Codename Moron
by JaganshiKenshin
Summary: When Hiei is sent to investigate the strange attacks at a private school, his ally is none other than...
1. Codename Moron: C1 I Love A Man In

Disclaimer: Kenshin does not own the Yuu Yuu Hakusho characters (they are the property of Togashi Yoshihiro et al), and does not make any money from said characters. Don't sue.

What Kenshin does own, however, are all the original characters present in this work. Any attempt to "borrow" these characters will be met with the katana, or worse.

The events in _Idiot Beloved_ take place shortly after the Dark

Tournament; _Firebird Sweet_ directly follows that timeline.

I suggest reading them in order; you'll understand a few key points here if you do.

Title: Codename Moron, C1 ("I Love A Man In Uniform!")

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: T

Summary: Hiei's got a new assignment, and guess who his partner is?

A/N: After more than a year, I am finally posting the actual story, not just the teaser! For this particular tale, I wanted a touch of mystery as well as action. It takes place about a year and a half after the main part of _Firebird Sweet_, and is especially for Kuwa-chan fans as well as Hiei fans. (Japanese high schools--gotta love 'em). Thanks, and please review! Accompanying sketches are up on my LJ homepage, linked in my profile.

"I have to show up **WHAT**?"

Codename Moron (C1: "I Love A Man In Uniform!")

by

Kenshin

"I have a new attack," Hiei told the priest.

"Really?" Father Brian leaned back and raised an eyebrow. "What a coincidence. You also have a new assignment."

_Damn_. By taking the initiative, Hiei had hoped to distract Father Brian, like dangling a pork chop in front of a starving mutt. He switched tactics. "If I'm not fit for dancing, I'm not fit for battle--"

"There won't be any battles, son. This is detective work."

"If you want someone to kill people and break things, then I'm your man. Otherwise, call Sherlock Holmes."

On a lazy Sunday early in September, 18 months after Hiei had defeated Old Dragon at great cost to himself, in the cool dimness of Father Brian's basement office, Hiei was being sent back into the field again.

The priest sat behind his the desk, pit-bull features alight with anticipation, or interest in the new attack, or maybe just joy at the opportunity to dole out more punishment.

Father Brian McCormick was an ex-boxer and looked it, with his fireplug build, close-cropped salt-and pepper hair, and dangerous, penetrating black eyes. As for his desk, it looked as though a bomb had hit it. Stained papers, crumpled Styrofoam cups, and a litter of pencils lay in careless abandon, in contrast to the well-ordered pictures of saints on the whitewashed walls.

Hiei remained silent about the state of the desk. Maybe if he remained silent long enough Father Brian would assume he had died, and seek another operative.

No such luck. "Now about that new attack..."

Sighing, Hiei gave the first round to Father Brian. "The Jagan Wave," he replied, rather smugly, having worked it out himself through laborious trial and error.

Father Brian's interest was piqued. "What's it do?"

"Hurls psychic energy at a target." The Jagan Wave had proved capable of slamming an opponent back with a force almost equal to a dynamite blast; after Hiei had demonstrated it on an unsuspecting Kurama, the fox-boy hadn't spoken to him for a month. "I don't yet know how useful it will--"

"Don't use it in school."

"Don't use it in what?"

"School. You know. The place where normal people learn." Father Brian rummaged through the undergrowth of papers on his desk, muttering a stream of words that priests are not supposed to use. Hiei coughed. Flicking an acidic glance at him, the priest reached into a desk drawer, then laid a grimy manila folder on his desk. "Strange goings-on at St. Joseph's."

"St. Joe's? That's all the way into Toshima-ku."

The priest snorted. "And since when have we become some sort of nancy-pants afraid to leave his own doorstep?"

_Round two to the priest_. "What goings-on?"

"Objects flying through the air."

"There's a student on the other end, busily applying the laws of physics against some teacher or other. Case closed."

"These objects fly by themselves, Mr. Know-it-all. One or two students have been hurt so far, not badly, maybe a lump on the head or a black eye, but if things get worse--"

"Demonic?"

Father Brian gave him a troubled glance. "Problem is, no high-level demon should even be able to get inside there."

A stab of hope filled Hiei. "Doesn't that rule me out?"

Father Brian rolled his eyes. "No high-level demon without immunity to Holy Water and with evil intent, y'little smart-ass."

Hiei considered his options. While obligated to go where Rome sent him, he was still far from one hundred percent. St. Joe's was boys-only, and even if his firebird could get on the cafeteria staff, she had obligations of her own, in the form of the twins Michael and Cecilia. "I'll be without Shay-san."

"You'll be without diapers, too. Think you can manage?"

"I want back-up."

The priest rummaged through his Rolodex. "One of your usual gang members?"

With Yuusuke 'off in Makai doing who-knows-what,' and Kurama juggling a double load of schoolwork plus assisting Dr. Smith in Smith's private practice (not to mention not speaking to Hiei)--

Hiei swallowed a chunk of bile. "Kuwabara."

The priest hardly blinked. "I'll arrange it."

_Round three, Father Brian_. "Who's my contact?"

Father Brian leafed through the folder, squinting. "The maths teacher, Brother Itako." He handed the intel over.

Hiei examined the handwritten document. "My cover story?"

"You're Mejiro Kuro, a senior. Just came from America, born in Japan, lived in the States a while."

"How smart do I have to be?"

"Smart as you like without attracting undue attention. You can be Kurama for all I care."

"About not attracting undue attention?" Hiei waved a hand in the general direction of his hair.

"Sure an' you'll see kids with worse. Not many, I grant you, but you'll also see 'em with bolts through their noses and lug nuts hanging off both ears."

"For joy. Just one other little detail, though. How am I supposed to pass for a teenager?"

"Remind me." Father Brian planted his chin in his hand, steadily regarding Hiei. "Just exactly how old are you?"

"Twenty-two. In four months."

"And how many times a week do you shave?"

Hiei lowered his head. "Twice," he muttered.

The priest snickered. Hiei's face heated up, and he tried one last gambit. "But they might recognize me."

Fixing Hiei with one of those threatening black glares, Father Brian sat back in his creaking chair. "Is this you, refusing a direct order?"

"Just saying we used to be famous."

"Well. La di gibberin' da. And how long's it been since Romantic Soldier was on the front pages?"

"Year and a half?"

"Trust me on this. No one will remember--or care."

"But Shay-san and I still play out just about every--"

"And might you be so good as to remind me where do you work? Oh, that's right. Cruise ships and lounges and parties with a bunch of dodderin' old farts. The chances of some private school teenager 'making' you is slim."

"Slim doesn't mean none."

"Fame's a cruel thing, boy. My nephew went to school with John Bon Jovi."

"Who?"

"I rest me case."

_Round, four, priest._ "What if someone does recognize me?"

"For a tough guy you sure whine up a storm."

"What about my Dragon?"

"Uniform'll cover most of it."

"And this?" Hiei brandished his wedding ring.

"Let your little colleen wear it when you're at school. I'll start the ball rollin' for Kuwabara. You have a fitting for your school uniform in half an hour."

"Doesn't leave me much time."

"Guess you shouldn't have wasted so much of it carpin'."

_TKO, advantage priest_.

Father Brian got up, inched his way around the desk, and opened the office door, shooing Hiei out. "Don't be late."

0-0-0-0-0

Reeling into the blazing, bustling streets, still punch-drunk from his interaction with Father Brian, Hiei headed for a preliminary uniform fitting.

Shichi's Tailoring Emporium and Costume Shop was a rather optimistic name for the dive that it was. Located in a down-at-heels part of town, Shichi's served the movie trade. Hiei had visited the cramped walk-up before, when he had played Oberon in the art-house flop _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

Shichi's still smelled of chalk, fabric, and boiled-off tea. The costumer on duty was a sour-faced geezer who complained that Hiei's shoulders were too broad, his waist too narrow, and, due to the rush order, that he had to work Sunday. But the old man's bellyaching was nothing compared to what awaited Hiei next.

0-0-0-0-0

Hiei approached the Kuwabara residence at the speed of a tortoise on sleeping pills, then stopped altogether, regarding the house from a distance.

It looked just as he remembered. The last time he had seen its stolid, yellowish outline was the day he'd been released from the hospital. One week after that, Shiori had insisted on taking him in for his long recovery.

Kuwabara never came to visit during the grueling year of intense physical rehabilitation that had allowed Hiei to walk again. Hiei thought he had put it out of his mind. He had been worse than bruised, battered, broken, and near-paralyzed; he had been _dependent_.

Maybe he had fled Shiori's protection too soon, buying a house he really couldn't afford.

In spite of all they had been through together, there remained something about the moron that rubbed Hiei the wrong way. The invariable by-product: sparks of tension, like the electricity generated by stroking Eikichi's fur.

_Can't stand here gawking forever_. Reaching the house, Hiei rapped at the door.

Kuwabara answered, wearing gray sweats that looked as though he had slept in them, although he had, as usual, taken time to carefully coif his orange hair. He expressed no surprise at the sight of Hiei; Father Brian must have given him the heads-up. Entering the _genkan_, Hiei kicked off his shoes, strode into the living room and slapped the intel folder on the coffee table.

"Father Brian's sending me to a private school. You're my backup. He's already cleared things with your school."

Only then did Hiei ease onto the sofa.

"Nice to see you, too, Runt. But I haven't agreed yet."

Hiei snapped his fingers. "To attend St. Joe's, you'll need to be quicker on the uptake."

Glowering, Kuwabara took a seat opposite him and glanced at the folder without picking it up.

Hiei's reactions rode a precarious balance. Point one: the irritation factor. Point two: Kuwabara and Shay-san formed a mutual adoration society. Point three: Kuwabara might someday become Hiei's brother-in-law. He suppressed a shudder. "Look, aren't you always yapping about some friend who goes to St. Thomas Aquinas? Figured you'd know the general territory well enough to fit in."

Kuwabara's face was as granite-hard and expressionless as an Easter Island statue. "I'm in the middle of studies here." He jerked his head at a pile of books on the side table.

"A Catholic school education is second to none." Hiei smirked. "But you'll just have to fake it."

Kuwabara made a great show of searching the room, shading his eyes with a broad hand. "I don't see no flyin' monkeys."

"It's pigs. The day we get along is the day pigs fly."

"Pigs, monkeys. What's the dif?"

"St. Joe's might be able to teach you the difference."

"I'll lose credits."

"Father Brian will see that you don't."

Folding his meaty arms, Kuwabara fixed Hiei with a cold stare. "And I should care about this why?"

For a moment, Hiei could say nothing. The house, though clean, made him think of dust and ash. "No reason." He retrieved the intel and headed for the door. "I have to pick up the St. Joe's uniform. Say 'hi' to your sister for Shay-san."

"Hold it, Shrimp."

At the door, Hiei stopped. For a moment he did not trust his hearing. Then he turned.

Kuwabara extended a paw. "At least gimme a look."

Crossing to the sofa, Hiei watched while Kuwabara flipped through the intel, acting as though he could actually read. Hiei already knew what was written in Itako's spidery shorthand: **'First incident, basement, Mon. AM. Mops, buckets moving. Unable to get more info from near-hysterical new janitor. Quit later that day. Second incident, Tu. Students in arts/crafts rm. report flying water jars; one grazed by jar. Third, W. noon, cafeteria equip flying. Student hit by flying saucer.'**

Kuwabara handed him the folder. "When do we start?"

Hiei blinked once, twice. "Tomorrow morning." He hurried to the door before the idiot could change his mind.

"Oi, Shrimp!"

Eye twitching, Hiei stopped, faced Kuwabara.

"What's my cover story?"

"You're a freshman, Waseda Ryou. Transfer due to staying with a cousin while they fix up your house."

Kuwabara surveyed the living room. "Looks fine to me."

"Do you have to work at being stupid or is it a gift?"

"Dunno. Do you have to study being obnoxious?"

"Tomorrow, try to pretend you don't know me."

"I'll give it all the consideration it deserves." Kuwabara took out a little notepad and began scribbling furiously.

Hiei retrieved the intel folder, tucking it under one arm. "One more thing," he added.

"Mmm?" Still scribbling notes, Kuwabara didn't look up.

Hiei took a deep breath. "I--really don't know how to act at a boy's high school."

Kuwabara rose, stretching. "So?"

"I'd ask Kurama, but he would tell me to show up without clothes the first day and think it hilarious."

Kuwabara's look was wide-eyed innocence itself. "You mean you didn't know that?"

"Cut it out."

"Seriously, Shorty. All new transfers have to--"

"Kurama can pull off this sort of joke. Not you."

"You'll be fine. Just keep your head down." Kuwabara loosed a donkey-laugh. "Wait, what'm I saying?"

Hiei favored the moron with a death-glare that should have singed his eyebrows.

"Look on the bright side," Kuwabara said. "At least they didn't ask you to infiltrate a _girl's_ school."

0-0-0-0-0

On the train ride home, Hiei considered the school he was supposed to save. A high percentage of all-stars in wrestling, tennis, swimming, track, and gymnastics, not to mention science, history, and mathematics, made St. Joe's a perennial athletic and academic powerhouse. But now its standings would plummet. Parents would yank their kids, sending them to other schools slightly less infested with Unidentified Flying Objects.

The sun was a bronze disk low in the crimson-streaked sky by the time Hiei got off the train. He was already in St. Joe's uniform: navy blazer with the school emblem (a shepherd's crook) on the breast pocket, striped tie in gold, blue and red, crisp white shirt and khaki trousers. Quickly reaching his own street, he paused on the hot pavement to regard his house. But where he had stood before the Kuwabara house in reluctance, here he stood in delayed gratification and welcome relief--as he would not have thought possible only a few short years ago.

Situated in a quiet neighborhood, the house was a roomy but unpretentious two-story structure painted white, with green shutters. It had a white picket fence, a small neat yard, and an unexplored basement. Acquired via a desperation sale from one of the video producers he and Shay-san had known during their Romantic Soldier days, it retained a few essential sticks of furniture from the previous owner: a dining room set, a sagging couch, a bed. It needed a lot of work, which they were slowly accomplishing, and a lot of money to keep it running, which they were hardly accomplishing at all.

A house, Hiei thought, strolling up the flagstone path to the front door, was a cranky, endlessly hungry beast that frequently suffered from expensive nervous breakdowns.

Inside the stark, echoing hallway stood the only ornament the house needed: Hiei's firebird. He took a moment to appreciate the sight.

Of elfin beauty and demonic temper, Shayla Kidd was the architect of what he had become. Her neck-length hair was softly shirred like tongues of flame, and her clear gray eyes glimmered like gumdrops. Hands laced behind her back, her face alight with interest, she awaited him. But the twins, Michael and Cecilia, toddled forward to throw their arms around Hiei's legs. "Don't drool on Daddy's uniform," he cautioned them.

"Who?" Shay-san ambled over to him, winding her arms round his neck. "The kids--or me?"

For a moment, their gazes locked, and he caught the almond scent of her hair. Tension swirled away from him. "I'm home," he said, unneccessarily.

"You look--well. There's just something about a man in uniform ..." She trailed off, giving him a wicked glint.

"Any man?" He smirked at her.

She stepped back, tilting her head, assessing him. "But there's something missing."

Tension made a return engagement as Hiei examined his uniform. But Shay-san merely reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a palm-sized contraption of glass and metal.

Opening the device, she slipped two metal spars over his ears. A curved metal bar settled over his nose; a pair of clear round lenses shielded his eyes. With intense concentration, she adjusted the fit. "There! Perfect."

"Eyeglasses?" He goggled down at her.

"For that scholarly look."

He turned to glance into the hall mirror and almost laughed. She was right. The eyeglasses transformed his appearance. He looked like a--a bookworm.

Taking the glasses off, he slid them into his breast pocket. "Everyone will know these are fakes."

"Only if you tell them. Put them on for 'reading' and keep your nose in a book."

While Princess Starfish and Prince Jellybean scrambled around their feet, Hiei led the way into the mostly-bare living room and broached the subject of how to behave in school.

"Don't ask me." Shay-san hefted Cecilia onto her shoulder. "I went to a girl's school, remember?"

Tucking Michael under his arm like a suitcase, Hiei asked, "What were you like, back then?"

Shay-san beamed. "A holy terror. Fistfights, the whole nine yards. I was orphaned so young I had no idea what was going on or how to react to all the changes. Mother Superior finally had to call me into her office."

"Where she beat you up."

"No, she was kind to me. After that I was a little better."

CeeCee crowed in approval. Even Michael smiled.

"Did you get good grades?"

Shay-san nodded. "Nose to the grindstone, all the way."

Sinking onto the couch, Hiei laid Michael on his knee. "So that's why it's so short."

"You really ought to take that act on the road."

"Do the nuns still whap you with a ruler if you misbehave?"

"I fervently hope so. But you'll be taught by brothers, not sisters. Why not call Uncle Brother Thomas and talk with him?"

"Because it's the middle of the night in Santa Barbara. Or something." _I hope_. "Besides, he keeps asking when he can interview me for that book on fire demons."

"Excuses, excuses." Still holding CeeCee, Shay-san curled up next to him, tugged off his wedding ring, and placed it on her index finger. "How long will this job take?"

"No way to tell."

"Remember, we're booked this Friday at Busendo."

"How could I forget?" Busendo was a new golf and country club that needed acts for its lounge. As singers, they would clean up there--if they could squeeze in enough rehearsal time.

"Now, Hiei. A few pointers?"

"Ch."

"You do realize you can't bring your sword to school."

He rolled all three eyes.

"And no killing anyone."

"I'll try to keep that in mind."

"And no hitting teachers."

"You never let me have any fun."

"Life is tough, Dragon Boy."

He spoke with more bravado than he felt. "Wonder if I'll even get a good fight out of this."

She covered her mouth, stifling laughter. "Knowing you, it'll be with Kuwabara."

(To be continued: "That's going on your permanent record!")

-30-


	2. CM 2: School Daze

Please read Disclaimer in Chapter One.

Title: Codename Moron, C2 (School Daze)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: T

Summary: Hiei's first day at school brings frustration, and a not-very-pleasant surprise.

A/N: When I posted the preview of _Codename Moron_, long ago, I did not start with C1, but much later scenes set in the cafeteria. Littlekawaiifirefox asked if I would be putting those scenes back. The answer is yes, and they appear in upcoming chapters. With the original preview, I had to choose scenes from the middle of the story; there would have been too many spoilers for _Firebird Sweet_ otherwise. As always, thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

"Made enemies already?"

Codename Moron (C2: School Daze)

by

Kenshin

Monday morning dawned all too soon. But with a visibly amused Shay-san patting Hiei on the head and admonishing him to 'have a nice day in school, dear,' it might just as well have stayed black as night.

On the train ride to St. Joe's, Hiei kept reminding himself not to employ his usual, ruder forms of address, but to speak in the most polite strata, so as to fit in as best he could. When he reached the school he stood just outside the gates, wondering what details he did not know that others took for granted.

St. Joseph's looked much like any other school, Yuusuke's or Kurama's--except, of course, for the statues of the Blessed Mother and Saint Joseph flanking the entrance.

Even if the student body of St. Joe's was smaller than those other schools (only 350 boys), the campus itself was larger, with both a chapel on the well-landscaped grounds, and a residence for the Brothers who taught there. Waiting for a gaggle of students to file past him, Hiei sensed no _youki_ whatever from where he stood, but that could easily change once he got inside.

With its three-story brick structure and tennis courts, St. Joe's spoke of a quiet elegance. In seconds, however, the words 'quiet' and 'elegant' were permanently wrenched from Hiei's lexicon with the arrival of the moron.

_He's like a tsunami_, thought Hiei, his eye beginning to twitch. Blowing past Hiei, Kuwabara quickly took up with some students loitering near the entrance, braying, already clowning around as though he had never heard of the term 'undercover.' _So much for low profile_. But Hiei noted with smug satisfaction that his school uniform fit much better than the moron's.

And whereas Kuwabara was enrolled as a freshman, Hiei was in the senior class. That meant at least one break for him: they wouldn't be sharing a homeroom.

When Kuwabara shut up at last, Hiei stalked up the wide concrete walkway to the school's entrance, catching Kuwabara's eye; they exchanged barely-perceptible nods. Shay-san had warned him last night not to react in any way, shape or form to Hiei's eyeglasses; and that, apparently, had at least sunk in.

And just as Father Brian predicted, Hiei noticed haircuts far less conservative than his--one kid with dyed green streaks, another with a purple Mohawk, a third some sort of Viking braids. No one was likely to point out his hair. He wore his Rosary round his neck, as he always had, not realizing when Shay-san had given it to him that only people from the Latin American countries wore it thus, but no one remarked on that either.

All through the first couple of classes, Hiei kept one ear on the proceedings and the other tuned for trouble. Nothing more than the usual way any male society stacked up: those on top due to their academic skills, like Kurama; those who were popular, like Kuwabara; one or two genuine tough guys like Urameshi; and those who couldn't aspire to be Urameshi on his worst day.

Not to mention one or two loners, like himself.

English class let out. A stream of students filed past Hiei, but he stayed put, on the lookout for their contact.

He spotted Itako-_sensei_ making his way out of a classroom with a load of books under one arm. The mathematics teacher, a tall, spare man with a head of wavy, no-color hair, certainly did not act as though the school was in danger. _Codename Stork_, thought Hiei. Itako's pale eyes had a sere and distant look to them, and his awkward, hesitant gait made Hiei think of a dried-up piece of rubber tubing whose only joy in life was balancing numbers and tormenting students.

Itako did not see him, however, and Hiei moved on to his next class. No _youki_ there either.

But later on, when the class went outside during recess, someone followed him indeed. Three someones.

_Made enemies already, I guess_. There was a sizable concrete bench just a few feet from the school. Two other boys were seated at one end, but the bench had room for more. Taking a book from under his arm, Hiei sat on its opposite end near a ginko tree, opened the book, and surveyed the territory.

All around the schoolyard, students strolled singly or in groups, some going to sit on other benches or low retaining walls, others sitting underneath trees. The weather was hot and dry, and the trees cast welcoming pools of shade. Silently, Hiei kept half an eye on his three observers.

He had noticed them earlier, in the hallway: the same group of three upperclassmen (Watanabe, Harumi, Jintou, he recalled), who seemed to be glued together at the shoulder. They stayed that way even out here as they stapled themselves to the wall and scoped him out.

Three jackets strained across three sets of beefy shoulders. Their nominal leader, Watanabe, had beady black eyes and a black crew cut, and his beetling brow spoke of Neanderthal ancestry--all of whom had been cousins.

Watanabe was the widest of the bunch, but Jintou was almost as wide, and quite as tall as Kuwabara, but with an arrogant sneer that the idiot lacked. Harumi, the smallest by about half a pound, wore a silver earring in his left ear and an expression of thick-witted malice, as if he enjoyed pulling the wings off fairies.

_Those three could be hanyou themselves_, Hiei thought. _And not the pretty kind_. But no demonic aura emanated from them, only the aroma of people unfamiliar with the modern wonders of soap and water.

They looked at Hiei, silently challenging.

And then the challenge was no longer quite so contained. "Hey, you," barked Watanabe. Hiei, not being named either 'hey,' or 'you,' had no response.

"What'cha readin'?" inquired Jintou.

"It's got words in it." Hiei did not look at him. "You wouldn't be interested."

The two boys sitting on the bench opposite Hiei got up and sidled away. Harumi grunted, as though trying to work out whether Hiei's response was an insult.

Maybe these three Neanderthal wannabes could have enlisted a demon companion. Maybe the demon wasn't on school premises, but lurking elsewhere. Action at a distance. Worth checking out.

Hiei kept his nose in the book, hoping he had lucked out and found the source of the Unidentified Flying Sharp Objects.

"Oi, Shorty!" someone shouted.

Irritated, Hiei glanced up. The shambling, carrot-topped _tsunami_ that was Kuwabara came striding toward him. He waited until the idiot was close enough to hear his lowest whisper. "Wrap up the case yet?"

"S'matter?" Kuwabara inquired. "Half-day of school too much for you?"

"I'm already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth."

"And I'm trying to visualize you with a personality."

Hiei closed the book. "Sense anything inside the building?"

Kuwabara shrugged. "One or two funny feelings is all."

"Funny feelings." He cast a sour glance at Kuwabara. "Your razor precision astounds me."

"Hey." Kuwabara shrugged. "When I get a brainstorm I'll send you a postcard. In the meantime, work on that attitude."

"I'll try being nicer if you'll try being smarter." Hiei went back to his 'reading.'

"Yeah, yeah." With a dismissive wave, Kuwabara stalked off.

His nose may have been in a book, but that didn't kill the rest of Hiei's senses. Someone else was tracking him. In fact, had been for a while.

He raised his head to pinpoint its source. There, at twelve o'clock. Almost hiding behind the ginko tree. A pair of liquid blue eyes stared at him from a face that could have belonged to a middle-schooler--or a girl. The kid had fair skin, and a mop of bronze curls, and if he got any more scared he'd wet himself.

With a sigh, Hiei motioned to the kid. Incredulous, the kid pointed to himself: _Who, me?_

'Who else?' Hiei mouthed.

Inching out from behind the tree, the kid joined Hiei on the bench. Up close, Hiei could see a flesh-colored bandage taped at an angle to the kid's left eyebrow. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Mr. ...?" Trailing off, he waited for the kid's name. It wasn't someone from his own class.

"Azabu Kouichi."

"Well?"

"It's just--I thought..." Azabu flicked his glance nervously about. "That big kid was gonna, I dunno, belt you or something. But right out in the open--well, a thing like that would go straight on your permanent record."

"He just wondered if I was the other transfer student."

"I remember! There are two of you, a freshman and a senior! So you must be the one in my class then? I think I have a different homeroom from you but--"

"I'm the senior. Older than I look."

The kid reddened, then shot off the bench to bow deeply. "Excuse me, _senpai!_ Please forgive my rudeness! I didn't realize--"

Hiei waved him back down. "Forget it, _kouhai_. We're a lot less formal where I come from."

"Oh!" The blue eyes glistened as if Hiei had just revealed himself as the Easter Bunny and the Prime Minister of Japan all rolled into one. "You're the American then?"

"Mejiro Kuro," Hiei said, by way of introduction. _Next thing you know, I'll be handing out business cards_.

"Whoah. I bet you do really well in English!"

"Could be."

"What's it like there, _senpai?_" The kid's mouth was rounded, his whole body leaning forward with eagerness: _Tell me a bedtime story, Daddy!_ Hiei was almost embarrassed by the display. "In America, I mean."

"Big. Really big. I come from a state that's got more square mileage than all of Japan." Hiei went on to describe San Francisco, painting it in broad, quick strokes; though Shay-san's family lived in Palo Alto, he'd been with them to the City by the Bay more than once. San Fran was a major port. The kid might have heard of it. Hiei concluded with a description of the Japanese restaurant Kouhaku, owned by a Kidd family friend.

"I can't believe it! People really eat sushi in America?"

"It's quite popular in fact."

"So..." The kid glanced down at the bench, traced a pattern on the concrete with one finger. "You're not in my class, then."

Hiei regarded the kid's bandaged brow, flicked a glance at the Neanderthal Trio--no, those ones were hoping to someday evolve into Neanderthals--added two and two together and came up with 666. "Just how common is this bullying?"

The kid shrugged, still fascinated by the bench.

"The teachers let it happen?"

"Most aren't really aware. And the upperclassmen are pretty good about stopping it--when they see it, that is."

Hiei made sure the trio, still glaring at him, took note of what he said, and this time, he did employ the rudest possible form of address, which has no equivalent in English. "Those who terrorize younger and weaker foes are cowards."

"Easy for you to say, _senpai_. But there's something worse than that--" Azabu looked up, past Hiei, eyes widening. "I gotta go. Nice meeting you, Mr. Mejiro!" Jumping to his feet, Azabu sprinted off like a scared rabbit.

Hiei sensed Itako, coming up behind him. He rose, turning to regard the tall, angular maths instructor.

Itako smiled. "And how are you getting on so far?"

"Fine, _sensei_." _Wonder why the kid ran off just now. Is our contact one of those who 'looks the other way?'_

Itako seemed the type of human who wouldn't notice a demon if it walked up and clocked him. Hiei was tempted to put his theory to the test, but decided against it.

Itako lifted his head to take in the Watanabe Trio, still plastered to the wall. He pursed his lips. "I'll walk you back inside, Mejiro."

Hiei fell into step with the taller man, pitching his voice low. "So the first incidents started--"

"A week ago." The teacher nodded. "And they are on the rise." They passed a knot of students returning to the building. Itako raised his voice a bit. "If I'm not mistaken, you're in my class this afternoon. How are your maths skills, Mejiro-kun?"

"Adequate." Hiei waited until the students had passed. "A week ago in the--"

"Basement." They entered by a side door that opened onto a back corridor. Cool air embraced them, and they headed up the nearest stairs toward the third floor. All around, students hurried to return to class, and Itako kept silent as they climbed the stairs. As they reached the third floor the hallways cleared. "Perhaps a quick consultation in my office--"

"I'll be late to class."

Itako shot him a pale, dry look. "Don't worry--it's hardly going on your permanent record." Then he pointed at the end of the corridor. "My office is that way."

As they walked toward the office, they passed a darkened, empty classroom, its door partway open. Hiei's scalp prickled. He paused.

A hiss of air. An object shot out at them from the room, almost too fast for the human eye to track. It went zooming straight for Itako's head.

Hiei was faster. Giving Itako a shove, he plucked the Unidentified Flying Object from the air. It smacked into his palm, cool and solid. Itako staggered a bit, a question on his lips, but Hiei had already shot through the open door, still clutching the UFO.

_Nuts_. The classroom connected to another one. The connecting door lay open. Anyone could have flung the object, then escaped through the other classroom. A quick glance around revealed an abundance of metal cabinets lining the walls, and an assortment of heavy machinery that looked quietly menacing in the dim light. Hiei moved toward the connecting door.

Itako called him. "Mr., ah, Mejiro?"

Reluctantly, Hiei left the classroom and returned to Itako.

"What was that thing just now?" Itako wanted to know.

Hiei held up a wooden-handled chisel.

The teacher gasped. "That door should have been closed!"

"What's in there?"

"Shop class. When it's not in use, all the tools are supposed to be secured and the door closed."

_Shop class? Sharp objects. What else do they have in this school? Circular saws? Scalpels? Dental tools? Heavy farm equipment_?

Itako looked pale and sick. When he swallowed, his Adam's-apple bobbed up and down. "Perhaps we had better postpone that office visit after all."

"Fine with me." Handing Itako the chisel, Hiei hurried to his next class.

The afternoon dragged on, but at last the dismissal bell rang. Hiei's first day at school had left him feeling hot, rumpled and useless.

On train ride home, he consulted with Kuwabara. Standing in the middle of a crowded car, he sketched out the shop class incident.

Kuwabara grunted. "But you caught the chisel, right?"

Hiei answered with a glare.

"I dunno, Shorty. Like you said, someone coulda been hiding in the room and threw it. Maybe Itako's unpopular."

_And maybe the Pope's Catholic_. Scowling, Hiei pondered the incident. "My money's on some kind of demon who can get through whatever barriers St. Joe's has up."

Kuwabara shook his head. "No _youki_ in the building."

Hiei thought of the times Kurama had sneaked up behind him. "_Youki_ can be cloaked or concealed."

"For a whole day? Naah." Kuwabara went on to outline what he had accomplished: in addition to making pals and hunting for traces of demonic aura, he'd visited each of the places their contact had noted--and spoken to the first student injured by a UFSO, a fat freshman named Denbo, who had been more interested in the school nurse than the lump on his head.

_And all I did was insult thugs and catch a wood chisel_. In spite of himself, Hiei was impressed. "Anything else?"

"Listen--" Kuwabara broke off, braying with laughter.

Hiei said, through clenched teeth, "What's so damn funny?"

"I dunno whether to call you Shorty or Bookworm."

"Whichever's easiest for your feeble brain to grasp."

"Ooo, what a burn. Let me stand here scratching my head and pretend I'm trying to figure that out."

Hiei yanked off his eyeglasses and stuffed them in his breast pocket. "The only other thing we came away with today is the staggering revelation that there's bullying in a boy's high school. At this rate we won't wrap up the case in a year, let alone a week."

The train hit a bump; Kuwabara jogged against him. "Why do you want this over with so fast?" the bigger boy demanded.

"Don't you?" Hiei folded his arms, disdaining the use of straps. "Wouldn't you rather get back to being the terror of your own completely undistinguished high school?"

"Why?" Kuwabara repeated. "You takin' a cruise to the Azores at the end of the week?"

The train (far too crowded for his taste) rattled on. Relenting somewhat, Hiei sighed. There was no reason to hide this from the moron, but he was reluctant to share any details that smacked of trouble. "Gig this Friday. New lounge in a country club. Salary and tips. Judging from the way the manager looked at my firebird during the audition, we're gonna clean up."

Kuwabara's eyes narrowed. "You got money problems?"

"Who said anything about money?" Pressing through the crowded car, Hiei left Kuwabara to scratch the puzzled look off his face.

The train rumbled beneath his feet. Hiei gazed out the window as Toshima-ku gave way to home ground, thinking: _Itako's clueless, there's no demonic aura we can sense, and I've seen a chisel fly through the air, just not the guy who threw it. And that underclassman runt wasn't scared of me, but of something or someone else_.

No getting around it. He would have to use the runt as a source.

(To be continued: "You want me to join the WHAT?")

-30-


	3. CM 3: Cry Me A River

Please read Disclaimer in Chapter One.

Title: Codename Moron, C3 (Cry Me A River)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: T

Summary: Another day, another problem--not the least of which are 'opened floodgates.'

A/N: As always, thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews! U lk at mai sketches on LJ plskthxbai!

"Have a seat, Moron."

Codename Moron (C3: Cry Me A River)

by

Kenshin

On arriving home, it took Hiei an extra second or two to struggle out of his shoes and jacket, muttering all the way. When he looked up, Shay-san was leaning in the dining room doorway, laughing at him. "Tough day at school, dear?"

He was still lugging his bookbag. "I need a drink."

"My." Her amusement soared, along with her eyebrows. "We're starting early today."

"And make it a double."

"A double you say." She didn't budge. "Any special reason?"

He rolled his eyes. "I made a new little 'friend'."

"Oh, what a _good_ Hiei! And you didn't even kill anyone."

"Ch." He stalked to the dining room and flung his bookbag in the corner, spilling its contents.

Poor as they were, they still had an array of the hard stuff neatly laid out on the sideboard; some clients, especially those hiring talent for private parties, gave gifts of booze. Hiei selected a cut-glass bottle of amber whisky, uncorked it, paused to inhale the peat-smoked scent.

Then paused. Given his metabolism, he wouldn't even feel a double; it was the whole bottle, or nothing. Replacing the cork, pushing the bottle away, he muttered, "Some scrawny little bully magnet of an underclassman seems to think I'm interesting."

"Well, of _course_ you are." Shay-san ambled over, laying her head on his shoulder. She loosened his necktie. Her voice became a seductive purr. "Very, very interesting. Even now, you make my knees weak."

His own knees had turned to water. _Well. Even better than a drink_. "Prince Jellyfish ... Princess Starbean--"

"Napping." Nimble fingers opened his top button.

"Bully magnet," he murmured dreamily, not really aware of his words, mesmerized on the feel of her cool hands sliding up and down his chest. "What'll I say if he follows me home?"

"Mmmm."

He swallowed, dry-mouthed. By now Shay-san was on the third button, and Hiei's eyes began to lose focus. His thoughts slurred. "M-maybe tell him I'm renting a room from a nice widow with two adorable ..."

At that moment, everything changed.

To Hiei's astonishment, Shay-san pushed away from him.

"What the--?"

Her eyes went stark; both hands reached up to cover her trembling mouth; she stumbled back to crash against the doorway.

Then she burst into tears.

Hiei gaped at her. This was a woman who did not cry.

She had not shed a tear during labor, nor the actual birth of the twins, nor even afterward, when, to save her life, he had plunged the razor-sharp Heartblade into her chest.

She had not wept on the day he first met her, when he had been forced to cauterize a poisoned wound on her arm, using a red-hot knife and no anesthetic.

"Stupid woman!" he burst out. "Nothing's going to hurt me."

His attempt at soothing words failed to stem the flow of tears. If anything, they had the opposite effect. The floodgates opened for real; sobs shook her body.

Frustrated, he snapped, "What on earth could happen to me in school? I'll cut my thumb on a wood lathe?"

"Don't even joke about it," she gasped, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of a hand. "Not so soon after--after--" She could not finish the sentence, but Hiei knew she meant their near-fatal fight against Old Dragon.

"All right, all right." Moving to her side, Hiei tried to quiet her, but she twisted away from him.

Any minute now the little ones would hear Mommy bawling, and pretty soon everyone would be joining in. "Listen--"

One hand out as if to fend him off, Shay-san staggered across the hall to the downstairs bath, slammed the door behind her, and turned on the water full-blast.

Covering her sobs, Hiei supposed. Or cursing him out at top volume. Or--_Knowing her? Praying for my fool hide_.

Hiei slid to his knees. The twins chose that moment to sleepily enter the dining room and patter toward him.

CeeCee laughed, probably because Daddy was on the floor, and this could signal the start of a brilliant new game. But then, everything made her laugh. Michael studied him in silence, no doubt wondering why Daddy's bookbag lay with its contents strewn on the polished wooden floor. Winnowing a pencil from the mess, the boy held it up, scowling.

"And how was Daddy's first day at school?" Hiei asked, rhetorically. "He had octopus balls for lunch. And failed to solve the case."

Michael regarded him with those enormous gray eyes that exactly mirrored his mother's.

"Oh, Mommy?" Hiei answered the wordless question. "She's, uh, in the shower."

"Abaajawa?" Blinking, CeeCee popped her thumb in her mouth.

Hiei hated lying to the kids, even if they weren't yet able to speak coherently (though he suspected Michael understood everything going on around him). "Daddy said something stupid," he admitted. Gathering both twins into a warm, wriggling ball, he murmured, "Mommy's upset. Tell you what, we can wreck the contents of his bookbag." He rose, a child tucked under each arm. "Just let Daddy change first. No sense getting drool on his expensive school uniform."

0-0-0-0-0

Lunchtime, Tuesday.

As a private school, St. Joe's offered food second to none, rivaling many a good neighborhood bistro's cuisine. The cafeteria was a large, pleasant space that, under other circumstances, would have elicited a high degree of appreciation.

But Hiei sat alone at a table tucked into the farthest corner. Shoveling rice into his face, a book open in front of him on the laminate tabletop, he struggled to shut out the clatter of dishes and the chatter of schoolkids, struggled to concentrate, failed.

Through Shay-san had emerged from the bathroom in time to serve a silent, efficient dinner, her tears still ate at him.

Worse, Hiei heard the moron's bray of a laugh, coming from all the way across the cafeteria.

_Things can only go downhill,_ Hiei thought sourly, plucking up a slippery piece of bok choy with his chopsticks.

And as he had predicted last night--

"Ahem--" Someone hovering close by cleared his throat. Hiei glanced up to meet liquid blue eyes under a telltale mop of bronze-colored curls. Azabu Kouichi was holding a plastic lunch tray in eager, trembling hands.

"_Kohai_," Hiei said, with no enthusiasm whatever.

"Ahh, I, uhm ..." Blushing, the kid plunged ahead. "_Senpai_, I got you a knife and fork from the cafeteria! But I see you handle chopsticks well."

Sighing, Hiei waved him into the seat opposite. "Many Americans do."

The blue eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really." The kid reacted as if everything that fell out of Hiei's mouth was a gold nugget. "America is littered with Chinese restaurants."

"Cool! What are you reading, Mr. Mejiro, Sir?" The kid squinted at the open book, struggling to sound out the title. It was Kipling's _Jungle Book_. "You're _reading_ in English? Wow."

Hiei smirked. "Just looking at the pictures."

"You are _so_ going to ace that class!"

From the tail of his eye, Hiei saw Brother Itako glance their way. With his no-color hair like plumage, and his pale, unfocused eyes over that beaky nose, their contact struck Hiei as a stork in human shape that had fallen into the teaching profession by mistake. Hiei returned to the book.

"Uh-oh," squeaked Azabu. "We have company, Sir."

The trio of doom had materialized behind Azabu in a solid wall of flesh. Watanabe, Jintou, and Harumi grinned in a way that did not speak of love and friendship.

"Sorry, Mr. Mejiro," Azabu whispered. "I'd better go--"

"Stay right where you are," Hiei ordered.

That inescapable parental instinct! Once switched on, it could not easily be switched off. And even though Azabu was a mere seven years Hiei's junior, a lifetime of hard battle experience created a gulf of maturity between them.

Hiei considered his own kids. Given their heritage, Michael and Cecilia were unlikely to grow up to be Kuwabara-sized. While size along didn't always paint a target on someone's back--

"Yo, Bookworm," grunted Watanabe, beady black eyes barely visible under the beetling brow.

"Y'know, there's a job opening at school." Harumi, the dandy of the bunch, flicked back blond hair to show off his earring.

"Yeah." Behind a curtain of greasy brown locks, Jintou gave a toad's leer. "Someone like you could fill it easy."

Watanabe spun on his own man. "Shut up! That stupid flask made him think he was royalty but the janitor was just another drunk!"

Jintou and Harumi clicked their jaws shut in sullen obedience. Following that exchange of pleasantries, Watanabe looked for another way to spread joy. Fists planted on Michelin-Man hips, he turned on the kid. "What're you doing bugging an upperclassman?"

"Even if it's only the Bookworm," sniggered Jintou.

Azabu bowed his head. "Your pardon, _senpai_, I didn't--"

Hiei interrupted the apology. "I asked him to join me."

The Watanabe Trio favored them with nasty looks.

Hiei could match nasty looks with anyone, and raise the stakes to boot. But he chose to smile. "It's my duty as Azabu's upperclassman to help educate him." He spoke to the trio as if they were Kuwabara, with his brain shrunk from the size of a walnut to the size of a wasabi pea. "History, Geography, Social Studies. Mr. Azabu is interested in America."

_Funny how those instincts work. No wonder Shay-san tries to mother every misbegotten creature on the planet!_ Moving inch by inch, Hiei took off his glasses, folded them, placed them in his breast pocket.

Then, at a snail's pace, making sure he had their attention, Hiei rose, slid out of his jacket, letting it fall to the chair behind him.

Even through his shirt, they could see his muscles flex.

"Hey, guys," Hiei began, "you're interested in America too, right?"

"Uhhh." Jintou flushed brick-red.

Hiei kept his voice light and pleasant. "Suppose I show you a couple of American martial arts moves."

Harumi made a choking sound.

"No, really! I can do it now if you have the time!"

Watanabe gave a warthog grunt.

"Oh... running late? Well, if you want, I could meet you after school, nice and private. What do you say?"

"I..." Watanabe trailed off.

"I think it would be _fun_." Hiei's bared teeth punctuated the last word.

"We--have a c-club meeting," stuttered Jintou.

"Carry on," grumbled Watanabe, casting them a last venomous glare. Then they beat a hasty retreat.

Hiei shouldered back into his jacket. "Guess they didn't feel like playing."

"Holy--!" The kid's eyes bulged. "How did you _do_ that?"

With one eye on Watanabe's south end moving north, Hiei replied, "Kid, I've been fighting my whole life." Sitting, he pointed his chopsticks at Azabu. "And no, not to prove anything just because I'm small."

"But, the way you so easily--"

"Some things are better left unknown."

"Wow," Azabu whispered.

The familiar _tsunami_ topped with a carrot-colored pompadour chose to barge in as well. "Hey, Shorty!" Leaning over the table, Kuwabara jerked his head at Watanabe. "What was that all about just--"

"I beg your pardon, _kouhai_?" The corners of Hiei's lips twitched up. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

"Cut it out, Bookworm." Kuwabara straddled a chair.

"Have a seat, Moron."

"I'd really better go this time," muttered Azabu, clearly uncomfortable. "May I take that tray for you, Mr. Mejiro, Sir?"

"Mnf." Hiei upended the rice bowl into his mouth, then set it down empty. "Now you can."

Hiei and Kuwabara waited for him to leave.

"I take it you got yourself a minion," sniggered Kuwabara.

"I take it you got an earful of those three thugs?"

Kuwabara slanted a look at the table where Watanabe and his cronies slouched over their food trays. "Hard not to."

"Definite demon-bait. Exactly the type that--"

Kuwabara shook his head. "Naaa, they're just punks."

"So says the great Kuwabara Kazuma."

"Look, who grew up in _Ningenkai_, you or me? Think I can't recognize your garden-variety school bully? I'm tellin' you it ain't them. But will the great Jaganshi Hiei listen?"

"With your natural wit and timing, maybe I can arrange an audition for you at the lounge."

"Fine." Kuwabara rose, towering over Hiei. "And maybe you'll get outta here by Christmas."

"Idiot."

"Shrimpboat."

"God couldn't find your so-called brains with an electron microscope."

"And God couldn't find your puny ass with the Hubble telescope."

Hiei nodded in the direction of Watanabe. "Go check those three out. I'll talk to you on the train."

0-0-0-0-0

But on the crowded and noisy ride home, Kuwabara would not listen to reason. His rough-hewn features solidified in stubborn disregard as he insisted over Hiei's objections that he 'didn't sense no demonic aura from anywhere in St. Joe's.'

To tell the truth, neither did Hiei, but he was certain Watanabe was somehow involved in the UFO incidents.

Moreover, there was odd 'stuff,' Kuwabara went on, emanating from everywhere in the school, including the basement.

"Basement?" Hiei snorted.

"Yeah. Those rooms underground where they keep boilers."

"I know what a basement is." Hiei neatly dodged a passenger who stumbled too close to him. "It's where your grades usually are. Ch! Two days on the job and we have, basically, nothing."

"We know stuff's flying around the school. Sharp stuff, too--like that chisel."

"That chisel was probably on the end of Watanabe's arm until he pitched it at Itako."

"Doesn't mean he got demon connections."

"Tell me something. How tough is it, having to process information through the neutronium that comprises your skull?"

Kuwabara furrowed his brow in thought. "Not very," he replied. "Info just kind of leaks in through the holes for my eyes. You know--the way it does for your three skull-holes."

"So that's how it's done. Two places as opposed to three would go a long way toward explaining the difference in our intellectual capacity."

"You need all three places 'cause your skull is so tiny."

"If I throw a stick, will you leave?"

They indulged in a brief, mutual glare-fest. But there seemed something hollow beneath the vigorous exchange of insults, as though doubt had crept in between them and dug a nest among the litter of words.

They spent the rest of the ride in stony silence.

At home, Shay-san was seated at the dining room table. With papers strewn everywhere, the surface almost resembled Father Brian's desk. When she saw him come in, she quickly snatched up the papers and stuffed them inside a fashion magazine.

Entering the dining room, Hiei peered over her shoulder. "What are those--want ads for my replacement?"

His firebird's eyes, normally as pellucid as gumdrops, were still bloodshot from tears. "That's not even remotely funny."

"I get it," Hiei said. "Bills."

Over her objections, Hiei slid one of the bills from the magazine. _Gas and electric._ It read like a cheap horror novel, and a quick calculation confirmed that this month, it was either food or mortgage, but not both, unless the club gig--

"Where are the kids?" he asked quietly.

"Napping again." She fell silent, examining the fascinating terrain of her fingernails.

A fierce and volcanic personality, Shayla Kidd was not suited for prolonged sulks. A quick right cross to his jaw would have seemed more in character, and far more preferable. "Club Busendo booked a double act, not a single," she reminded him. "And with so little rehearsal time together ..."

_Wish I'd never made that stupid widow joke!_ Moving to stand behind her chair, he slid the magazine away, then placed his hands on her shoulders.

Under his fingers, she felt as rigid as plywood.

Despite his best intentions, Hiei often found himself irritated by her human frailties, and then ashamed of it.

Somehow he had to reassure her he would come to no harm. Yet he knew, from bitter experience, that life carried no such guarantees.

Releasing her, he took a seat to examine her face--and saw that during the night, her worries had compounded. Her eyes were not merely bloodshot, but haunted.

"St. Joe's is a private boy's school," he stated, "not the Dark Tournament. Nothing's going to happen to me except flunking a history exam."

"That's what you always say." Her feeble attempt at levity constituted whistling in the dark, and they both knew it. In her red-rimmed eyes, the haunted look remained.

(To be continued: The air is thick with UFOs!)

-30-


	4. CM 4: Unidentified Flying Objections

Please read Disclaimer in Chapter One.

Title: Codename Moron (C4, Unidentified Flying Objections)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: T

Summary: The case isn't exactly going well, which does not improve Hiei's mood.

A/N: My summer update schedule tends to lag behind a bit-- gomen!--but thanks to a week with no storms I got this update finished. As always, thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews! Character sketches on my LJ homepage.

"Hey! Who threw that thing?"

Codename Moron (C4: Unidentified Flying Objections)

by

Kenshin

The following day, Hiei started work with a scowl on his face, and things went downhill from there. He didn't like riding the train to St. Joe's. Didn't like the nonstop chatter, nor the people pressing in all around him, nor having to talk to the moron first thing in the morning. He would have much preferred his normal means of transport: flicking from rooftop to rooftop.

But in fact, Hiei simply wasn't yet up to that sort of high-speed maneuvering. So he took the train, with a large dose of poorly disguised ill grace and a barely contained snarl that had passengers inching away from him on the crowded morning commute.

Good.

However, this infinitesimal lift to Hiei's mood was soon dashed by another tedious argument with Kuwabara over what had caused the Unidentified Flying Sharp Objects.

Bad.

Then, _that_ little pleasantry was followed by a call from Father Brian, asking about their progress.

And what progress did Hiei have to report? That he had discovered a previously unknown phenomenon known as "bullying"?

Not to mention the fact that Hiei happened to be in Science class when the call came, and Itako himself came to fetch Hiei to his third-floor office, and every eye in the classroom tracked his sojourn from desk to door.

Worse.

After Hiei hung up, he asked Itako, "Do you have any idea what's behind the UFO attacks?"

"No," Itako answered. "That's why we called you in. You're supposed to be a professional."

Hiei gnashed his teeth.

And as the day wore on, his mood blackened. Whenever possible, Hiei had attempted to question the kids he encountered in the hall or in class, struggling as best he could to disguise such prying as the simple curiosity of an American transfer student: 'Do all Japanese private schools have wood chisels flying through the halls?'

All to no particular avail.

And Itako proved to be not quite as unpopular as Hiei would have liked. "Itako-_sensei_ teaches a tough class but also makes sure we understand everything. He never just kicks anyone upstairs merely to pass him to the next level," said a beaming underclassman in response to Hiei's questioning. "I wish all teachers were that diligent!"

Yes, a lot of the kids weren't keen on the Watanabe Trio, but they were unable--or unwilling--to get more specific. Yes, something was going on at the school: objects flew through the air. The original reported had said as much. _This,_ Hiei thought, _is going nowhere--slow._

Then, just before History class, a lanky and affable senior gave Hiei what he hoped was his first break in the case.

As tall as Kuwabara and as scrawny as Itako, Tsuboi Atagi's pale hair was like a dandelion gone to seed above his long, plain features, and Hiei suspected artifice had nothing whatever to do with it. As sloppy a dresser as he was a good student, Tsuboi ran around with his shirttails perennially half-tucked.

But Tsuboi had a theory. As they lingered in the hall between class, Hiei settled in to listen.

The senior proceeded to spin Hiei a tall tale of ghosts that had haunted St. Joe's since 1549, when the Spanish and Portuguese brought Catholicism to Japan.

"Ghosts in St. Joe's." Hiei folded his arms, flatly disbelieving. "Would these be Portuguese ghosts or Japanese?"

"Both, actually." Tsuboi's eager face lit up. "And let's not forget the Spanish. They like their revenge served cold."

"Cold is right. St. Joe's wasn't built in 1549," Hiei reminded him. "It went up in 1960. And the Portuguese missionaries arrived in Kagoshima. That's 600 miles from here."

"Ghosts are like that." Leaning against the classroom door, Tsuboi's dark eyes fixed dreamily at a far point, presumably in the vicinity of Kagoshima. "They'll wait around for someplace new to haunt."

At that moment Watanabe stomped by, Neanderthal brow furrowed in a vicious scowl, as though he had run out of nails to munch. Tsuboi buttoned up until the coast was clear.

"Then they possess guys like Watanabe," he continued smoothly. "It's the only explanation for his personality."

_I have another,_ thought Hiei, tracking Watanabe's departure. _If he's not half-demon then he's in league with one_.

"Gotta go!" Tsuboi gave Hiei a cheery wave and ducked into the classroom.

"You should write novels," Hiei said, under his breath. Tsuboi had given him nothing of substance, just more stupid pet theories and rumors. You couldn't build a case on rumors, no matter how tempting it seemed.

Back to Square One. Hiei trudged off to his own class.

And to make matters worse, Hiei's classmates started nagging him to join any one of a billion idiotic after-school clubs: Martial Arts in Manga. The Forensics Club. Science Projects Unlimited. The Chesterton Society. Future Farmers of Japan.

They importuned him in the halls, in the classrooms, at recess, whenever and wherever Hiei went to escape them--and it was only Wednesday. Hiei resisted the urge to strangle the lot of them and declined, as politely as he could manage.

_They should be grateful I don't break their fool necks_.

When the last disappointed club nut (a plump underclassman representing the Theater Arts Guild) was successfully rebuffed, lunch break arrived at last.

Simmering with frustration and annoyance certainly raised a fellow's appetite. Hiei made a beeline for the cafeteria, loaded a tray with Black Ninja rolls, and sat in a corner, his back defiantly to the rabble.

"Oi, Shorty!" Kuwabara's irritating voice preceded the irritating act of plunking down opposite Hiei. "Got a minute?"

Hiei thought about forbidding Kuwabara to join him, but relented. The big oaf's body might block Azabu from sight.

This was a good thing.

Hiei gave him a cool glance. "A minute is about all I can spare, _kouhai._" Spearing piece of roll with one chopstick and dunking it in soy sauce thick with wasabi, he popped it in his mouth. An explosion of buttery, oceanic tuna with a tail-end sting was his reward. "Haven't you heard? I'm _popular_."

Kuwabara rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "World's smallest violin. For the world's smallest Spirit Detective."

"Bite me."

"I would, but I left my magnifying glass at home."

"Got anything to say or did you just run out of other people to bother?"

"Listen." Digging into his bowl of rice, Kuwabara leaned across the table, whispering like a conspirator. "This kid in--"

"Stop spitting rice at me and swallow your food."

"--in my Geography class, what's his name, Shintani Shinji, he just told me that Watanabe stole--"

Out of nowhere, a heavy white dish came hurtling straight for Kuwabara's head. Before debating the wisdom of his action, Hiei flicked out a hand and caught it.

They looked at one another. They looked at the dish. It was just a dish: creamy white, about eight inches in diameter, thick and heavy, typical of food-service ware. Kuwabara's skull was almost as hard as Urameshi's, but this plate would have made quite a dent.

Hiei laid the dish on the table. "Got people wanting to kill you already?"

Kuwabara's angular face was a study in puzzlement.

A second dish flew through the air, this time crash-landing against a wall.

One of the teachers popped out of his seat. Hands on hips, he surveyed the crowd, bellowing: "All right! Who threw that?"

Throughout the cafeteria, students exchanged glances of varying interest and unease. But although Watanabe sniggered openly from his table near the door, no one claimed responsibility for the Unidentified Flying Blunt Object.

"Did you see anyone throw it?" Kuwabara whispered.

"No. But someone could have."

"For once, we agree."

Hiei returned his attention to the excellent Black Ninja roll. But in another second, as if each piece of servingware, flatware, and glassware had conspired with great glee ("HA! Now they think it's safe!"), the air was again thick with dishes.

Gulping the last of the roll, Hiei watched a veritable snowstorm of food-service china, cutlery, and glasses. He noted that the chopsticks weren't playing on the same team; they remained as inert as the ones he'd just dropped beside his tray.

Nor was the tray itself moving. The tray was fashioned of sturdy but lightweight plastic. Whoever was causing these things to fly--and no one student could have been responsible for such a blizzard of lunch-line artifacts--obviously preferred objects with some potential to do harm.

The sound of smashing plates almost drowned out the cries of students frantically ducking china carnage.

Kuwabara rose, scanning the cafeteria. "Food fight?" he suggested, quirking an eyebrow at Hiei.

Hiei darted glances around the room, trying to keep track of the dishes and their trajectory. "Too many plates, no one's throwing them. Where's Watanabe?"

"Hiding under a table. You're too little to see."

Hiei longed to test whether the sound of smashing china would cover the sound of him stomping Kuwabara's foot.

Itako sat at a table near the serving area, his mouth half-open. Peering vaguely back and forth, Hiei's contact seemed not quite aware of his surroundings.

For a while the air rang with the clash of _kamikaze_ china against walls and floor, and the occasional cry of "Look out!" Every now and then Hiei plucked a dish out of circulation that had the nerve to stray too close to them.

Just as suddenly, the barrage ended.

Fielding a final cup, which felt heavy enough to be used as a murder weapon, Hiei placed it on the table. Silence blanketed the room, except for a faint throbbing in Hiei's ears. Students all around the cafeteria exchanged frightened glances.

Hiei had now seen the UFOs in a way he could neither ignore, nor explain away. That it was of supernatural origin, he now had no further doubt.

The flying-dish incident had lasted all of thirty or forty seconds, but that made for a lot of broken dishes. Some of the plates had smashed against the ceiling and fallen to the tabletops, forming a mosaic of white china shards on Hiei's tray. Impatiently, he brushed the pieces to the floor.

As he did so, he met the terrified gaze of Azabu. The kid was huddled alone, beneath a table not three yards away. Reddening, Azabu averted his gaze.

_He's got something to do with this! I'd stake my life on it_.

Gradually, students and teachers emerged from under the tables. Silence was replaced by inane human chatter and the muffled sounds of cleanup.

The one thing Hiei heard over and over again, spoken in shaky voices: "The school's haunted!"

(To be continued: A night raid brings disaster!)

-30-


	5. CM 5: The Poltergeist Retort

Please read Disclaimer in Chapter One.

Title: Codename Moron (C5, The Poltergeist Retort)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: T

Summary: A boy's private school at night is another world altogether, as Hiei is about to find out.

A/N: Accompanying sketches up on my LJ. As always, thanks for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

"What next? A tractor?"

Codename Moron (C5, The Poltergeist Retort)

by

Kenshin

"I saw it with my own eyes!" Snarling, Hiei paced the living room floor like a caged panther. "The entire food-service catalog of southern Japan flew through the air, and no one was throwing it!"

Shay-san hovered anxiously nearby, her hands outstretched as if to stop him. "Don't crash into the wall!" she pleaded.

Hiei had returned home not ten minutes ago; due to the UFOs, the students were sent packing right after lunch. And although the weather had changed from husk-dry to cool and cloudy, his own temperature was rising. "Kyaa!!" Grasping his tie, he tore it free and flung it to the coffee table. "Not a trace of _youki_ during the whole incident, not even a spike of _reiki_!"

Shay-san's eyes went stark. "You're scaring the kids," she hissed.

Something in her tone caused Hiei to pause in mid-stride, to glance at the upturned faces of the twins sitting on the floor. Michael's brow was furrowed; CeeCee's eyes mirrored her mother's, large as saucers.

Saucers. Flying saucers.

On the train, Hiei had again exchanged words with Kuwabara: ("So what was Watanabe supposed to have stolen from that Shintani kid?" Hiei wanted to know.

"His watch."

"And Shintani can prove it?"

"Nope."

"Then neither can we. Unless Watanabe shows up wearing the watch, he's home free.")

Lowering his voice, Hiei went on. "Parents are already pulling their kids out of St. Joe's. Itako says the school board and the principal are all biting their nails. But how could a demon get in? There are a couple of Holy Water fonts, one on the first floor and another on the third, and one of the cafeteria ladies told me she keeps some in the kitchen to put in the soup!"

"Holy Water in the soup? Must be some tough school." Shay-san lifted Michael from the floor as she spoke.

"I can sense the Holy Water. I can _see_ the light emanating from it. No _youkai_ should be able to run around that school. It doesn't make sense."

He scooped CeeCee up. Easily soothed, the baby girl smiled, put a finger in her mouth. "Uzaysenss?"

"What she said," echoed Shay-san.

0-0-0-0-0

The witching hour.

Sleep avoided Hiei as he lay in bed, staring at the charcoal-dark ceiling. Shay-san was right about one thing: they needed more rehearsal time together, not just stolen moments after school and dinner. Forget about solving the case by Friday. He had to solve it now.

Itako, too, was right; Hiei was failing St. Joe's. In a head-on battle, he had a chance of winning. But this enemy had no face, no form, and a hidden enemy, striking from the shadows at innocents, was far too reminiscent of Old Dragon.

Giving up even the pretense of sleep, he exploded from bed.

"I don't get it." Striding to the window, Hiei drew the curtains and glanced out, as if his answer lay somewhere in the moon-capped sky.

"Don't get what?" Shay-san's voice was quiet yet alert. He turned, noted that she was already watching him, her demeanor revealing she, too, had never been asleep.

"The flying saucers." Returning to the bed, he studied her face. She hadn't been sulking all week, but rather close-mouthed with sheer terror. That changed things. "Listen--"

"I can't lose you!" Even in the dark, he could see her whitened knuckles clutch the bedclothes.

Her outburst took him aback. "What--you think I can't defeat a flying soup bowl?"

She covered her face in her hands. "I can't lose you," she repeated, the words muffled now.

He hesitated a moment, drawing in a long breath. Failure was eating at him, but he intended to do a better job than before of calming her fears.

"Listen." Taking her icy hands from her face, he warmed them, even if he could not make her meet his gaze. "You know me. My motto was, 'I will not serve.' But then I met you, and now I'm on patrol for good. This won't be my last job, and I don't break that easy."

Her voice cracked. "They said you'd never walk again."

"Shows you what 'they' know. And if you think I'm going to let myself get killed just so I don't have to do what Father Brian says--"

She lifted a disdainful eyebrow, but the terror in her gaze had vanished. "Well... all right then."

"And I still don't get it. A high-level demon shouldn't be able to enter that school. I don't even know if I could use my Jagan there."

"Your fists and sword are nothing to sneeze at." She was back to cheering him on, back to normal. The change was heartening.

"I don't sense any demonic aura. Neither does the moron."

The moon climbed to peer through the half-parted curtains, icing Shay-san's silhouette with silver-blue. Delicately nibbling a knuckle, she murmured, "Maybe it's not a demon."

He stared at her. "Not you, too!"

She slanted him a thoughtful look. "I was thinking. A school crammed full of adolescent and post-adolescent boys... ever hear of the poltergeist phenomenon?"

"The--" Hiei clamped his mouth shut. Brought about by the hormonal surges of adolescence, the phenomenon often manifested as rage, enabling the afflicted youngster to make objects fly through the air.

Hiei was acquainted with the effects of raging hormones; he thought in retrospect that he had been subject to their influence when he'd stolen the Artifacts of Darkness, kidnaped Keiko, and stabbed Kurama. "You mean when a troubled teenager's overwhelmed by--and things fly off the shelves? Oh, crap." He leapt off the bed. "Watanabe's not the culprit."

She gave a gasp of comprehension. "Your new little friend?"

"Azabu," he agreed. Yanking on a pair of black pants and a black sweatshirt, Hiei then opened the closet to rummage for a katana. Made almost merry by Shay-san's return to normal and the prospect of something concrete to fight, Hiei felt stronger at that moment than he had all week, well able to flick rooftop to rooftop again. The very idea exhilarated him. "Phone the moron and have him meet me at St. Joe's!"

She was already out of bed, fumbling for a robe. "What are you planning?"

"If you're right, everything hinges on that kid. I bet when we hit the school tonight we won't even sense a hint of what Kuwabara sensed during the day."

"And then what?"

Opening the window, Hiei turned to her, beaming. "Then we kidnap the kid and beat him senseless. Case closed."

"Hiei--" Her lips twitched. "You can't do that."

"You never, ever let me have any fun." Manufacturing a mournful look, he hopped onto the sill and took off.

She called after him: "Remember, if you cut up a bunch of students, it's going on your permanent record."

0-0-0-0-0

The night felt cool and damp, and the full moon rode herd over clouds that scattered like wayward sheep. Having vaulted to St. Joe's roof, Hiei then opened a window. But he needed a moment or three to recover before going downstairs to let the moron in.

They stood inside the hallway that was dark and hushed as a graveyard, until Kuwabara broke the silence. "I dunno, Shorty," he whispered, as if any sound at all might call down the wrath of the dishes. "I don't feel nothin' different."

_Damn_. "I hate it when a beautiful theory gets shot to--where's the weird stuff feel strongest anyway?"

Kuwabara stopped, frowning. "Right now?" Concentrating a moment, he jerked his head upward. "Third floor, I guess."

Like soldiers on patrol, silent and watchful, they mounted the stairs. The occasional squelching of their shoes seemed indecently loud. _Didn't take off our street shoes,_ Hiei thought. _That's probably going on my permanent record, too_.

While his teamwork with Kuwabara lacked the razor precision that Hiei had enjoyed with Kurama from their very first battle against the demon Yatsude, Kuwabara was still a fighter. He might be a braying donkey and a mini-_tsunami_, but there was no questioning his heart. And once his battle instinct hit Red Alert--

They reached the third floor. Halfway down the hall Kuwabara stopped, flicked a meaningful glance to his left.

Hiei nodded. Kuwabara had indicated a darkened room, 312, used by the St. Joe's Go Club. The door was ajar, and if Hiei sensed someone behind it, surely Kuwabara did too.

The night breathed menace. Even the ticking of the hall clock sounded out: _Doom. Doom. Doom_.

They glided toward the partly-opened door, splitting up to stand on either side. Then, quicker than a striking snake, Hiei flicked inside, caught the perp and yanked him from the room.

It was a boy. Recognizing the mop of bronze curls and liquid blue eyes, Hiei let him go.

Determination and terror waged war on the boy's face. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth bared, he clenched his fists and cried, "I-I won't let you vandalize the school! I'll stop you..." Trembling, the kid trailed off, adding in a whisper, "Somehow."

"Azabu," Hiei sighed wearily. He flashed a glare at Kuwabara. "This is what you were sensing!"

"Azabu?" Kuwabara scratched his head. "But, Hiei--"

"Listen, kid." Hiei folded his arms. "We're not here to wreck the school. Cooperate and no one gets hurt."

The boy backed away from them, until he hit the wall and stopped. "You're not regular students, are you? Mejiro-_senpai_, I-- today, when you caught all those flying--"

"Come on!" Hiei grabbed the kid's arm. "I am hauling you downstairs this instant and you are going straight home." With Watanabe and company picking on him, the kid had plenty to be upset about. And if Azabu was indeed causing the UFSOs, then transferring him to another school (where presumably the Watanabe Gang wouldn't be trying to stuff him in a coal sack) might solve the problem. "Kuwabara, cover this floor."

"Why?" demanded Kuwabara. "If you're so damned sure Azabu's the you-know-what--"

"Do it!" Hiei was halfway down the hall, Azabu in tow.

Kuwabara grimaced. "Switch to decaf, Shorty."

Hiei shot over his shoulder, "Just cover the floor!"

"Anything to shut you up!" The moron got that laser beam look in his eyes, which always meant trouble for the opposition. Armed thus, he sprinted away.

"You're hurting me," Azabu protested.

Hiei released Azabu's arm and glanced around. Moonbeams stabbed down from the windows, flinging rectangles of silver light along the floor. "Come on."

Trotting to keep up with Hiei's pace, the kid goggled at the steel clanking at his back. "Is that a real sword?"

"It's a worthless piece of crap is what it is. Sword-making's a lost art these days." Hiei hurried toward the stairs. "I go through these like you go through lollipops." He spared a sidelong look at Azabu, trying to calculate how many lollipops this one went through in the course of a month. "What the hell were you thinking, breaking into St. Joe's at night?"

"I know you've been looking for something. You were asking questions all week. I didn't want anything worse to happen to St. Joe's, so I--"

"You can help by not getting in the way."

The kid switched his gaze from Hiei's sword to his left hand. "That's a wedding ring, isn't it?"

"Nothing gets past you."

"And your real name's--what did Waseda-kun call you just now? Hiei?"

"_His_ name's Kuwabara."

"What happened, Sir--did you get left back a lot?"

Halting, Hiei clenched both fists, turned to face Azabu. "You knew all along I was an adult?"

"Y-yes." Azabu took a step away, but spoke with conviction. "Something in your eyes. Like you've seen your share of fights."

_And then some_. "Listen, I have two kids at home. Don't make me look after a third." They were close to the stairs now.

But Azabu's eyes bulged like golf balls. "Look out!"

Hiei spun. From the long darkness of the hall, a big stainless-steel drip tray went zinging past their heads. Followed by another. And then two more.

_Sharp edges. Heavy. Worse than dishes_.

Hiei's katana flashed. The ring of metal on metal. Four drip trays down. "Where did _those_ come from?"

Azabu shrugged, apologetic. "Dissection class."

"Crap! We have to get you off this floor--"

A whine of air warned Hiei. He whirled, just in time to face a new attack by an array of drill bits.

"Get down!" Hiei warned. Azabu hit the floor. _Zing-zing-zing:_ Hiei's katana whirled, dispersing drill bits. The bits buried themselves in the wall like bullets.

Darting back to Azabu, Hiei reached down to haul the kid to his feet. But Azabu again cried out, "Behind you!"

Hiei saw the source of Azabu's alarm: something that resembled a metal sawhorse some four feet in length, flying at them under its own power--as though animated by some evil Wizard-of-Oz with a quirky sense of humor. As it hurtled closer he identified it: the Eguro Mach 7, a variable-speed wood lathe, pride of St. Joe's Shop class. 250 pounds of wood-turning equipment flew toward him as effortlessly as a baseball. _Dammit! Sure stronger than a soup bowl, but what about a wood lathe!_

"Get down, kid!" Hiei took a two-handed grip on his sword. When the Mach 7 was so close he could smell sawdust and machine oil, Hiei swung his sword like a baseball bat.

Sword slammed into metal; Hiei felt the impact all the way up to his shoulders; the Mach 7 sailed in the opposite direction and crashed into the wall.

The sword vibrated in Hiei's hands. Then, with a sound like tinkling ice, the tip cracked off and clanged to the floor. Hiei groaned in frustration. "Stupid useless piece of crap katana!"

"There are some knives coming." Still huddled on the floor, Azabu sounded calm--as if nothing further could surprise him.

Cursing, Hiei tracked the flying knives. About eight of them, slim and wicked-looking, their points glinting with bloodlust. Hiei was familiar enough with the instruments of both Kurama and Dr. Smith to recognize them as surgical scalpels.

Azabu, Hiei considered, may not have realized he was the cause of the UFSOs. _Could try clocking the kid. Maybe an unconscious Azabu would add up to no more flying objects._

But he didn't want it going on his permanent record.

Ramming the larger piece of the broken sword back into its saya, Hiei flicked into the air, snatching scalpels, flinging them aside so they too buried themselves in the walls.

"That's odd." Azabu cautiously uncovered his head, peering past Hiei. "Why are there more scalpels coming after you?"

Hiei jerked around. Countless scalpels, arrowing down the hallway. "Come on!" Yanking the boy to his feet, Hiei ran down the hall, kid in tow like a banner streaming in his wake.

Behind him, he heard the deadly whistle of sharp metal with a hankering for demon flesh. Decide: clock the kid, or get him out of the school?

Hiei turned to the window to his right. Smash the window, get the kid safely outside. And _then_ clock him.

"Stay put, kid. I'm going to break--"

Three more blades flashed at Hiei before he could dodge--two sliced open his sweatshirt, carved long bleeding furrows into the flesh just below his collarbones.

"Duck!" Shoving the boy to the floor, Hiei heard the blades hiss past. Then, veering in mid-air, the scalpels changed their direction like heat-seeking missiles and came at Hiei again, scoring his back with a hash-mark of shallow cuts.

Leaping up, he saw a new barrage of UFSOs join in and race toward them. Hiei counted a dozen knives, assorted steel drip pans, a Go board, and a bedpan. "Kid! Listen to me. You can stop this if you concentrate!"

The boy peered up at Hiei in puzzlement. "On what?"

What, indeed? Think calming thoughts? _With knives flying at our heads?_

Knife-points winked at Hiei, inches from his eyes. Flicking over rooftops had tired him; the skirmish with the Mach 7 had depleted him further. _Dammit, can't dodge in time--!_

"Sword, extend!" From out of nowhere came help in the form of Kuwabara. His Spirit Sword flared out, knocking knives and bedpans aside.

Hiei sagged in relief: _The cavalry's here._

Kuwabara's intervention had given them a breather for a second or three. Hiei drew his broken katana to examine its remaining length. About a third of the sword was gone. Not much use now for anything other than a fancy push pin.

He returned the miserable stub to its saya. "How many scalpels do they have in this school anyway?" Hiei clenched his fists. "Every inch of the third floor's a deathtrap."

"Hiei-san!" piped the boy. "You're bleeding!"

"I ain't got time to bleed! Kuwabara, cover our backs."

"What are you gonna do?" Kuwabara demanded.

"I'm 'gonna' get the kid out of here." Hiei shot a venomous glare at Azabu. "Or clock him, whichever comes first."

"How come?" Kuwabara's eyebrows rose in puzzlement.

"Because Azabu's the locus of these attacks! Didn't Shay-san tell you about the poltergeist--"

"And that ain't it either!" Kuwabara interrupted. "But does the great Hiei listen? Noo, the great Hiei with his amazing exploding katana is too busy bossin' everyone else around to--"

"Look out!" cried Azabu. From the far end of the hall another barrage flung itself at them: pots, pans, heavy marble rolling pins, butcher knives. Lashing out, Hiei hooked Azabu's legs out from under him, dropping him to the floor.

"Home Ec?" Hiei snatched a marble rolling pin out of mid-air and used it as a bat to smash pots and pans aside. "Why are they making _boys_ take Home Ec?"

Swatting down butcher knives with his spirit sword, Kuwabara argued, "This kid ain't causin' the UFOs. Can't you see it? They're after him, too!"

As suddenly as it had begun, the barrage stopped. Hiei and Kuwabara faced one another over the cowering boy.

Hiei was in a bad mood. A very bad mood. His nerves were wired taut. _Oh, there won't be any battles_, Father Brian had assured him. A dump truck's worth of murderous objects out for Hiei's blood apparently didn't constitute a battle.

So when the door next to him swung open and a man lunged out, Hiei, acting on pure reflex, popped him on the jaw.

The man dropped like a sack of flour. Kuwabara knelt over the limp form, then looked up. "It's Itako-_sensei_."

Sure enough, Hiei saw the mathematics teacher on his back, his head lolled to the side, mouth open. "Don't tell me he's in on this too," Hiei muttered.

Rising to his feet, Azabu gasped. "You hit a teacher!"

"That's goin' on your permanent record," added Kuwabara.

_That human stork? Looks better unconscious._ "Come on." Hiei gritted his teeth. "His office is at the end of the hall."

Kuwabara lifted Itako with ease, slinging him over one shoulder, moving like the man's weight was nothing.

"Wait--!" Hiei whirled. Again, the whistling of blades, far down the hall. Even at that distance, he could tell this new assault was not good. It seemed that every sharpened implement in the school--ice picks, chisels, protractors--was hurling itself toward them.

Hiei snatched up the rolling pin again, counting the number of UFSOs. "I've seen military bases with a smaller arsenal."

With Kuwabara hampered by the unconscious teacher on his shoulder, and the kid huddled behind him, one did not have to be an unconscious mathematics teacher to calculate that the odds against them were, frankly, dismal.

_Can I use my new attack here? It repelled Kurama about twenty feet--no better time to find out_. "Kuwabara, take care of the kid and the teacher!" He yanked up his Jagan ward, faced the oncoming fusillade, and took his battle stance, summoning the psychic attack: "Jagan Wave!"

Kuwabara shouted, "Hiei, don't!"

Perhaps if it had been Kurama warning him, or his firebird, or even Father Brian, Hiei might have listened.

Instead, because it was just Kuwabara, he sent his Jagan Wave, a burst of blue-green energy to battle the strafing blades.

And the instant he did, it seemed as though the protection from every Crucifix and every drop of Holy Water in the building rose up against him, flew toward the fray, and said to Hiei: "Oh, no you don't!"

Two powerful opposing forces met in an equally powerful explosion. Azabu cried out. The blast flung Hiei backward into a wall with a force that no enemy could have mustered. Breath slammed from his lungs; his guts whirled; his head rang as he slid to the floor. Fighting for consciousness, Hiei saw six chisels flying toward him, blade-end first, struggled to rise.

And could not--pinned like a butterfly under glass, by the twin powers of Holy Water and his own Jagan.

"Sword, extend!"

With a one-handed grip, Kuwabara's Spirit Sword knocked aside three of the projectiles. But three made it past his guard. _Thok--thok--thok--_ they buried themselves in Hiei's shoulder, thigh, flank.

"Mnf!" Hiei's jaws clacked together in an involuntary spasm of pain. He glanced at the hafts protruding from his left shoulder, left flank and right thigh. Wood chisels, judging from the size and shape.

"Hey, Shorty..." Kuwabara began, still burdened with Itako. "You okay or--"

From not so far down the hall, something else came singing through the air with a different, deeper tune than mere wood chisels.

A pitchfork. Flying straight toward Hiei's heart.

_Great_, Hiei thought, _they teach agriculture here too?_

The tool streaked forward, tines first. If a pitchfork struck him full in the heart, it would surely kill him.

Azabu screamed. "Hiei-san! Get up!"

("I'll say I'm renting a room from a nice widow with two kids," Hiei had blithered. "Don't even joke about it," Shay-san had pleaded).

"Kuwabara--!" Hiei could just barely move his mouth, but not his limbs. _Should have apologized,_ he thought, _Should have told her I was sorry for even saying such a fool thing--_

Dropping Itako, Kuwabara shoved Azabu into an empty room, and came hammering toward Hiei, Spirit Sword blazing--

"Sword, extend!" Kuwabara slashed at the pitchfork.

And the pitchfork _dodged_ his stroke. Hiei could swear that it juked, just exactly like a wide receiver, and came on.

Hiei struggled, but his limbs would not obey. The tines hurtled closer. Four feet. Two. One. Straight at his heart.

Hiei's life flashed before his eyes. The pitchfork slammed into his heart--

No.

It stopped.

An inch from his skin, it stopped, shivered, then shot upward at a ninety-degree angle to bury its tines in the ceiling.

Stopped by the Rosary _she_ had given him when they first met.

_Rosary one, pitchfork zero_. With a silent prayer of thanks, Hiei slumped boneless against the cold floor.

Then the pitchfork groaned and shivered. Loosing itself from the ceiling, it fell, and slammed down onto his head.

A field of stars burst before Hiei's eyes like fireworks, and the room went away.

(To be continued: "Hiei! Can you hear me?")

-30-


	6. CM 6: Rosay One, Pitchfork Zero

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Codename Moron (C6, Rosary One, Pitchfork Zero)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: T

Summary: There's something powerful trying to break its way into Hiei's temporary haven--something out for revenge.

A/N: As always, I thank you for reading this, and I appreciate your reviews!

"Why am I seeing double?"

Codename Moron (C6: Rosary One, Pitchfork Zero)

by

Kenshin

Hiei opened his eyes in a room that was cool, dim, and thankfully, free of murderous wood lathes.

Out of this soothing darkness, Kuwabara hovered over him like a pale, orange-topped balloon--no, make that two balloons. The Kuwabaras grinned. "Hey, you're still alive!"

_Oh, great. Seeing double._ "There are two of you." Hiei's tongue ventured forth to lick parchment-dry lips. "I'm dead and in Hell for sure."

"Shows how much _you_ know," snorted the doubled Kuwabara. "We're in Brother Itako's office at the end of the hall. Things seem quieter now."

A heavy object--maybe even the wood lathe, for all Hiei could tell--struck the door, producing a hollow boom that shivered the walls. Kuwabara jerked a thumb at the sound. "Except for that, I guess."

Hiei's neck ached. This was undoubtedly due to the fact that he lay wedged half-sitting in the far corner of the small, narrow room, neck bent at a 90-degree angle, as though Kuwabara had dumped him there like a sack of grain.

Opposite Hiei were the twinned office doors, each with its panel of pebbled glass. Along the wall to his right were two desks. Almost hidden by Kuwabara's doubled bulk huddled two worried-looking Azabus; beside Hiei, two Itakos lay stretched out on their backs, for all the world like sleeping storks.

_Let sleeping storks lie_. Hiei blinked, but the doubled images remained. The top of his head throbbed where the handle of the pitchfork had struck him. His left shoulder, right thigh and left flank burned with pain. He wondered why, until he remembered: _Wood chisels_.

Another blow jarred the door. "Wha..." His voice slurred. He tried again. "Whaa's..."

"That thing?" Kuwabara nodded at the door. "Not sure. Happened three times already. Somethin' heavy's hitting it."

"Mnf," said Hiei, probing the top of his head, and then, when the piercing sting made his eyes water, thinking far, far better of it. _I'm in bad shape_.

Two smaller, paler balloons pushed toward him and resolved into Azabu's doubled face. The boy then turned his liquid blue gaze toward the two Kuwabaras. "We'd better take Hiei-san to the hospital, hadn't we?"

"Naah." Kuwabara sat back. "Not this guy."

"But he looks--"

"Half-past dead. I know." Wincing, Hiei levered himself into a sitting position. "We don't start getting excited about it until I'm at dead-and-a-half."

"Wow," whispered both Azabus.

Hiei blinked a few times. With each blink, the two Azabus and both Kuwabaras moved closer together, until finally each became one single outline. Satisfied that his vision at least was back to normal, Hiei tested it by glancing around the room. "All better now," he said.

Except for those miserable bastard chisels buried in his flesh. Hiei caught Kuwabara's gaze, then nodded at the handles sticking out of his shoulder, flank and leg. "Will you do the honors, or shall I?"

"I got better leverage than you." Kuwabara grabbed two of the handles and braced himself. "Ready? One...two--"

"Wait!" Azabu's cry stopped them. He gave them a wide-eyed look of shock and disbelief. "Kuwabara-san! You're not going to just pull them out of Hiei-san like that, are you?"

"Two-and-a-half," counted Kuwabara.

Hiei lifted his lip. "Stop showing off the fact that you can count to three and just yank."

"B-b-ut!" Azabu's face had gone whiter than Hiei's starburst. "W-without anaesthetic or anything?"

Kuwabara laughed. "Yeah, Shorty's kinda abnormal. I think someone musta dropped him on his head when he was a kid."

"Ever wonder what life would be like if you'd had enough oxygen at birth?" Hiei countered.

"Want me to leave these things in you, Shrimpboat?"

"Whatever suits you best, Idiot. I'll just lie here bleeding and you can go fight the flying things all by yourself."

"Uhm, Sirs..." Azabu looked at Hiei, then Kuwabara. "A-are you two enemies or something?"

"Yes," muttered Hiei, just as Kuwabara grunted "No."

A breath's space. "No," they chorused.

Beside Azabu, Itako stirred, groaned.

"Back to business." Kuwabara rewrapped meaty hands around the chisels. "Two and three-quarters--"

"Hold it." Hiei put up a finger, addressing Azabu. "Kid, better look the other way."

"Three!" Kuwabara's powerful hands yanked out the blades in Hiei's flank and shoulder.

"CH!" The chisels clattered to the floor, and with their removal Hiei's wounds started bleeding anew.

"One more," the idiot said, almost apologetically, taking hold of the haft sticking out of Hiei's right thigh. He yanked--this time without a countdown.

Hiei switched to cursing fluently in English. That language had some pretty good words.

"Stop being such a baby," Kuwabara admonished. "And don't think I didn't understand that."

"I faint at the sight of blood," warned Azabu, looking sick.

"Told you to close your eyes," said Hiei. The kid scooted to a corner, burying his face in his hands.

Kuwabara tore open a long seam on Hiei's pants where there wasn't supposed to be one, laying bare the injured leg.

"Hey," Hiei protested weakly. "I liked those pants."

"As if you don't have a dozen pair just exactly like 'em." Kuwabara performed the same feat on the left shoulder of Hiei's sweatshirt, then eased the fabric up to expose the wound on his flank. Next he reached into his coat and fished out a couple of flat packets. Each was about the size of an envelope, wrapped in Mylar-like material that shone even in the room's dimness.

Hiei blinked. "What are those?"

"Stuff Kurama gave me," Kuwabara replied. "I ain't got his way with plants, but he told me they'd act as pressure bandages, and they also got some kind of topical anasthetic." Kuwabara opened a packet and withdrew something that looked like a sterile gauze patch that dripped clear liquid. Quickly, he slapped it onto Hiei's thigh wound.

The patch molded itself to the wound as though by unseen hands. Immediately, soothing relief suffused Hiei's injury, like diving into a cool clean ocean. The effect was exquisite.

"I--" Hiei let out a long breath. "Kuwabara..."

"What?" Kuwabara was busy tearing open another packet.

Hiei hesitated, fumbling for a way to express his gratitude. "Looks like you thought of everything."

"I know you, Shorty." Crumpling the empty foil packet to toss in the wastebasket, Kuwabara flashed him a crooked grin. "You always like to get in the way of flying sharp objects."

"I don't _like_ doing it. It just ... happens."

The next patch went on his shoulder, and the last on his flank. Feeling far better, Hiei sat up a little. Itako was still laid out, Azabu still hiding his face. Hiei could hear the ringing of smaller objects as they struck the outside walls. "So basically," he said, "the boogeyman's at the door and we're cowering in a classroom."

"It's an office, Shorty. At least get that straight."

"Now all we have to do is find the demon and--"

"I'm tellin' you, there's no demon behind these attacks," Kuwabara's demeanor changed at once, accompanied by a ferocious scowl. "I don't feel any demonic _ki_ ..." Kuwabara left unsaid, 'other than yours.'

Hiei sucked in a long breath. "Neither do I," he admitted, with great reluctance. "Haven't all week."

"Wonder if anyone died here?" Kuwabara wadded up the remaining first aid packets and tossed them.

"You mean, a ghost?" Hiei snorted. "Like Tsuboi was telling me? But it would have been in the report."

"Too bad we can't ask Itako-_sensei,_" mused Kuwabara, his rough-hewn features thoughtful.

Another menacing boom rattled the door.

"Is it safe to look now?" Azabu's voice was somewhat muffled, his face still hidden behind both hands.

Kuwabara grunted. "Maybe you better stay that way, kid."

"But, Sirs..." Azabu risked peeking out between his fingers. "What about the janitor?"

"He'll just have to mop up the bloodstains tomorrow," Hiei snapped.

"But there's no janitor at the moment." Azabu scrambled a little closer. "That's what I've been trying to tell you--"

_BOOOM_.

The glass in the door cracked into a spiderweb pattern, barely short of shattering altogether. "And I was just getting comfortable," lamented Hiei.

Hugging his knees, Azabu shivered, "If only Itako-_sensei_ would wake up!"

"Yeah." Kuwabara flicked his gaze toward the teacher. "But in my experience, people who get clocked by Hiei stay clocked."

"Here." Digging into his left pocket, Hiei pulled out a spray bottle and handed it to Kuwabara.

"What's this?"

"Holy Water. Give Itako a couple of shots."

Kuwabara gingerly sprayed the unconscious teacher. "Oh!" Brother Itako sat up, folding his storklike body, rubbing his jaw. Again, he reminded Hiei of nothing so much as a gangling bird, far out of its element. "The janitor?" Itako's voice was still thick with confusion. "The janitor. Someone mentioned the janitor."

"The janitor," prodded Kuwabara. "Go on, _sensei_."

"His replacement?" Itako continued to probe his jaw.

"_Sensei,_" whispered Azabu. "I think they want to know about Shimono-san."

"Elderly man," murmured Itako. "Passed away on the second day of this term."

"When the disturbances began?" Kuwabara demanded.

"Do you mean to say--" Hiei's teeth ground together. His hands twitched. "--that you filed the report, which went all the way to the top, and then got bounced back to me, and you neglected to mention a little thing like THE JANITOR DIED?"

Itako took a long time replying, his unfocused eyes above the beaky nose vague and irritating. Hiei scornfully dismissed Itako as any source of assistance; the teacher seemed barely competent even to focus on everyday events. "People die every day, son. And since it wasn't suicide or murder--"

"Excuse me, Sirs?" squeaked Azabu.

"The janitor died," roared Kuwabara, "and that wasn't worth mentioning?"

"No," Itako continued, rather patiently. "Because Shimono-san didn't pass away in St. Joe's itself, I--"

"Sirs?" Azabu's voice was shaking.

"But shouldn't one of the--" Hiei cast a glance at Azabu. Even if Brother Itako knew who and what Hiei was, there were limits to what they could say in front of the kid, who had already witnessed too much.

Of course, Kurama would have picked up on Hiei's question instantly: _Shouldn't a ferry girl have collected the dead guy, spirit and all?_

Well, Hiei wasn't dealing with Kurama now, but the far less subtle Kuwabara. Against his will, he recalled his conversation with the affable Tsuboi: **The school's haunted by ghosts**.

_No. Impossible._

"I know, Shorty, I know." Kuwabara broke in on Hiei's unpleasant reverie. "But don't ghosts stick around when they feel like there's some piece of unfinished business?"

Hiei met Kuwabara's gaze in the tiny room. "Then it's up to us to find out what that business is, and finish it."

"Sirs?" ventured Azabu. "That's what I've been--"

"So," Kuwabara scratched his head. "We need an exorcism?"

Hiei disagreed. "Genuine exorcisms are only performed in cases of true demonic possession, and I'm not qualified to judge or perform one under any--"

"Sirs!" Azabu burst out. "Maybe the flask is unfinished business!"

Their heads swiveled in unison toward Azabu. "Flask?"

"The silver flask Shimono-san brought to school." Digging into his jacket, Azabu withdrew a small metal container. They stared at it. "A hip flask?" Hiei said. "Paul Kidd has one that his father used to bring to college football games."

Flattish and palm-sized, the silver container was made to hold liquor, with a telltale curve that would allow it to fit comfortably in a hip pocket. It shone with an elegant luster in the darkened office, true silver as opposed to Mylar, revealing a family name written on its side in strong, engraved characters.

Watanabe, in the cafeteria, blaring about the janitor and his flask! Watanabe, the suspected thief! Ignoring the pain it caused, Hiei shot to his feet. "Are you telling me that my associate and I spent three days here with daggers flying at our heads just because some old drunk wants his booze tank back?"

Kuwabara glanced up at him. "Guess you're feelin' better, huh, Shorty?"

Groaning, Hiei sank back to the floor.

"Shimono Satoshi was hardly a drunk," said Itako, unfazed by Hiei's outburst. "He was a quiet gentleman who served St. Joseph's with great diligence and honor for many long years. In fact, he was here since the beginning. Outlasted a couple of principals, too. Extremely well-read, probably even more so than our current principal. What stood out about Shimono-san was that he always told me this was the perfect job for him. Not only did he like the work, but it enabled him to keep up with his reading.

"He was quite fond of our students, and for the most part they respected him. Now that silver flask was a treasured family heirloom that Mr. Shimono's father brought back from a business trip to San Francisco in 1920. Mr. Shimono took it to school only occasionally to show an interested student."

"This time to me, I'm afraid," added the kid, his cheeks flushing. "He knows--knew--I was crazy for America. But Watanabe-_senpai_ was spying on us down in the basement. When I heard Mr. Shimono say he couldn't find the flask, well, I knew Mr. Watanabe had been accused of stealing before, so--"

Kuwabara sidelipped, "Shintani's watch."

"I--I followed Mr. Watanabe after school that day and caught him pawning the flask. But he also saw me." Azabu lowered his head, touching the bandage that was still taped above his eyebrow. "That's why he--so I'd keep quiet."

"A ghost." Kuwabara narrowed his eyes at Hiei. "What'd I tell ya?"

Hiei coughed, but said nothing.

Azabu went on to explain further. Following the UFO barrage, and with school letting out early, he had retrieved the flask from the pawn shop with his own money and a lot of begging. Then he had sneaked back to school, hoping to return it to Shimono's basement office. "That's when I heard you two," he said, glancing apologetically at Hiei and Kuwabara. "So I went to investigate."

Hiei looked at Azabu with a new sense of respect. _What do you know. Kid's got guts after all_. And then he thought of the barrage of UFSOs, and the wood chisels, and the lathe, and the pitchfork. "So then," he said, with a smile that made Azabu huddle against the wall again, "Those flying objects weren't aiming themselves at me. They were aiming at _you_."

"Because Mr. Azabu was carrying the flask," concluded Itako.

"And what are _you_ doing here tonight?" Hiei demanded.

"Something similar to Mr. Azabu," Itako admitted. "Investigating to see what the pros overlooked."

"_Sensei_," began Kuwabara, before Hiei could clock him again, "You feel up to answering a couple more questions?"

Itako gingerly probed his swelling jawline. Another heavy thump struck the door.

Hiei rolled his eyes. "Take your time."

Kuwabara had to repeat the questions, while the pounding on the door grew in frequency: "Do you know where Shimono-san lived? Or where he's buried?"

"As to his home," said Itako, "that's simple enough--"

Another hollow boom rattled the door. Hiei struggled to control his annoyance until he was sure the person getting killed wasn't going to be Itako--with his own two hands. "How do you stand it around here?" he asked the teacher.

Itako smiled. "It's really rather invigorating, actually."

Hiei lifted his lip at Kuwabara. "Anyway I told you Watanabe was involved."

"Look, Shorty, why don't you put your money where your yap is and just trot the flask on down to the basement?"

"What for?" Hiei yanked open the door. "As you can see, the janitor's touchingly concerned with saving me the trip."

Stumbling out into the hall, Hiei fell to his knees. The others followed, Azabu still clutching the flask.

Hiei had fallen just in time. The wood lathe had worked itself free of the wall and came hurtling toward his head.

"Look out!" shouted Itako, unnecessarily.

"Got it!" Kuwabara slammed the murderous hunk of metal out the window with his Spirit Sword, shattering glass, and, judging by the resulting crash, laying the hundred-fifty-thousand-yen Eguro Mach 7 to rest.

"Oh, dear," sighed Itako. "I'm afraid that's going on your permanent record."

"Behind you!" Azabu pointed; Hiei whipped his head around, prepared for anything, even an attack by a forklift. But for once, it was nothing so massive.

It was, in fact, utterly unsubstantial. But at last Hiei could see what Kuwabara had only sensed: a faint mist, the size and shape of a man, caught and struck into seeming solidity by moonlight streaming down in great shafts of luminescence.

Kuwabara had seen it, too. "There's our ghost," he said.

From the far end of the hall, numerous stainless steel drip trays tumbled toward Azabu. Scrambling to his feet, Hiei snatched the flask from the kid.

The steel trays veered, coming toward Hiei instead, too fast for his depleted body to avoid. Metal clanged off his unhurt-till-then right shoulder, his sword arm, his left knee.

"Hiei-san!" cried Azabu. Drawing the broken katana, Hiei swung at the trays. They followed the Mach 7 out the window.

"That hurt," Hiei compained, sliding back down to the floor.

"You--you saved me again," gasped the kid.

The ghostly mist hovered nearby, as if undecided what to fling at Hiei next. Hiei handed the flask to Kuwabara.

The mist made up its mind. It floated toward the flask in Kuwabara's outstretched hand, surrounded the bit of silver almost carressingly, subsumed it, then floated away through the window.

_Good riddance_, thought Hiei, as the mist retreated, as ethereal as a wisp of perfume.

But the flask had other ideas. It thumped to the the floor.

The mist stopped, then flooded back through the window.

"Why, you--" Cursing, Kuwabara strode to the window, snatched the flask from the floor, prepared to fling it outside. His poweful arm cocked, he wound up for the pitch. "Take that!"

"Wait!" Getting to his feet again, Hiei grabbed Kuwabara's arm. "Give it here." He pried the flask from Kuwabara's hand.

"What's the matter, runt?" Kuwabara demanded. "Looking to hog all the credit for yourself?"

"From what I know of ghosts," Hiei nodded at the spirit. "This guy can't grasp things. He can only toss them around by remote control, and then only if he's worked up. If we want this to end, we have to return the flask ourselves, either to his residence or his grave."

"So says you." Kuwabara glared down at Hiei from his greater height. "Look, Shorty, who's the bad-tempered shrimp who can't see past the end of his sword and who's the fighter for love and justice with all the spiritual awareness?"

Hiei raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I know of no one fitting either description."

"Gentlemen?" Itako reclaimed their attention.

Hiei turned to face the mist, and realized they had been standing there some time, the flask in full view, and yet--

The barrage had stopped. _So it's true_, Hiei thought. _If the ghost isn't angry, he can't move objects. But now he knows we have the flask, and he also knows we intend to return it._

The mist advanced until it was almost touching Hiei. It surrounded the bit of silver, as if in agreement. A sensation of cold crept over Hiei's flesh; there was an odd shiver in the air, a thickening, and then, for the first time, the mist took human shape: a distinguished old man with a lion's mane of white hair and a beatific expression on his face.

"Shimono-san?" Hiei inquired cautiously.

The spirit of Shimono smiled, then bowed to him. Still maintaining its human shape, it floated out the window.

From Hiei's vantage point, the ghost could have been mistaken for another cloud passing over the face of the moon.

His bones had turned to quicksand, his muscles to lead. Far beyond weary, Hiei sank to his knees. "Kuwabara," he sighed. "I'm going to lie down for a minute. I hope you can get those two to tell us where the grave is." Then, as softly as though he were mist himself, Hiei melted to the floor, and for the second time in one night, the room went away.

(To Be Continued: "What's that in the sky?")

-30-


	7. CM 7: Permanent Record

Please read Disclaimer in Prelude.

Title: Codename Moron (C7, Permanent Record)

Author: JaganshiKenshin

Genre: Action/Adventure, Humor

Rating: T

Summary: Nothing is as Hiei assumed. But it's still going on his permanent record.

A/N: As always, thanks for reading this, and please kindly review! My character sketches are up on LiveJournal.

"I can't die here! I have house payments!"

Codename Moron (C7: Permanent Record)

by

Kenshin

Hiei woke with the left side of his face glued to the floor of St. Joe's.

He was still lying in the hall, surrounded by a coterie of watchers: the anxious Azabu, the bemused Itako, and Kuwabara, who was difficult for Hiei to read, having once again arranged his features to resemble an Easter Island statue.

And as if Hiei hadn't gotten enough excitement for one night, there was also the ghost of Shimono-san.

"How long have I been out?" Hiei inquired, peeling his face from the floor and sitting up somewhat stiffly.

"Not long," Itako reassured him. "Maybe fifteen minutes."

The flask winked at him, liquid in the moonlight, as Itako added that Shimono's home was, of all places, on the grounds of St. Joe's. Because of his long service to the school, the janitor had been permitted to live in the residence normally reserved for the Brothers--right in the school's back yard.

Said ghost hovered at Kuwabara's shoulder. Kuwabara did not appear the least bit un-nerved.

Fumbling for the flask, Hiei got slowly to his feet and hobbled to the stairwell. "Better let him lead the way, then." It seemed the ghostly mist was almost eager to do just that.

They went out a back entrance of the school, facing the landscaped quad that separated the residence from the school itself. The soft sounds of distant late-night traffic purled through the cool, moist air.

The residence, a warm-looking two story brick rectangle, was encircled by a flagged walkway. As they walked toward it, Shimono-san's spirit took the point, guiding them on.

At this hour, the residence was dead quiet, and dark as the inside of a sack, but the ghost led them upstairs to the correct door near the end of the hall.

Hiei's experience as a former thief allowed him to pick the lock in ten seconds flat. Cautioning the others to remain in the hall, he stepped inside the premises and shut the door behind him.

The ghost hovered at his shoulder, bathing him in cold air while he inspected the apartment.

The faint scent of beeswax competed with another, more ephemeral smell. Night leached colors from every object, rendering shapes in shades of charcoal and slate. The apartment was basically a single room, with an air of being larger than it really was. To the left of the entrance a kitchenette could be hidden behind a pair of folding doors. Another door straight ahead would presumably open onto either a bedroom or bath. Two tall, bare windows on the right-hand wall looked out over the school grounds.

Aside from a narrow chest to the immediate left of the door, which held a small bowl for keys, the only other amenities seemed to be the couch and two matching armchairs in the center of the room, arranged on either side of a square lacquered coffee table.

The most notable feature of the place, however, were the books. They were everywhere--and the source of that ephemeral smell. _Like in a library_, Hiei realized.

The wall facing the windows literally bristled with books. In fact, every wall of the apartment was lined with polished wooden shelves that ran floor to ceiling, crammed with texts. Two narrow bookshelves had even been fitted in the tiny space between the windows.

Books of every size, description, and subject matter, dizzying with hue and texture, like a muted candy store display. Curious, Hiei scanned the titles, and discovered that many were in languages other than Japanese: English, Italian, French, German, and others he could not identify.

He stood awhile in silence, just a bit dazed by the sheer number of books, more than in many a small branch library. Then--he had momentarily forgotten--he shook himself from his reverie and deposited the flask on the coffee table, where it gleamed against the black lacquer.

The janitor's ghost glided over, seemed to inspect, seemed to approve. Turning to face Hiei, he gave a deep bow. Hiei nodded curtly, turned to go--

And stopped.

Shimono Satoshi. A long life, lived in honorable service to others. A life of the mind. A quiet, thoughtful man, much admired, apparently much loved.

Stifling his natural impatience, Hiei considered what was happening, and how best to deal with it.

But to do that, he had to go back to the beginning.

From the moment Father Brian had summoned him on that Sunday, he had resisted. Hadn't wanted the case handed, and once stuck with it, had only wanted to get it over with, using whatever slipshod method that came to hand. In this instance, while lacking Hiei's natural skills, Kuwabara had proven far more diligent.

All of which translated into the fact that Hiei had not yet given it his all. _And all you can think of is getting out as fast you can? This man was as real as you are. Had dreams. Friends. Family._.

"All right, Sir," he told the ghost. "I get it. Even a man such as yourself loses his temper when pushed too far."

Hiei could have sworn that the ghost looked sheepish.

"And maybe everything that happened was less about the loss of the flask itself than how it was lost--or rather, stolen." _Not to mention that Watanabe beat up Azabu_.

Shimono bowed again. This time, Hiei returned the gesture.

But before he could get out the door, the air around him brightened from the deep gloom of night to an eerie steel-blue, thinning in a barely-perceptible manner. Hiei froze on the spot, ready for anything.

With a soft 'pop' of golden light, a ferry girl appeared near the ghostly outline of the janitor, riding her oar in mid-air. Hiei gave a startled gasp.

She was not, however, the one with whom Hiei was most familiar, the all-too-cheerful Botan. This was instead the somber, dark-haired Ayame, dressed in an equally somber kimono. Her expression was grave, dignified.

Without a word to Hiei, Ayame leaned forward and stretched out her hand to the ghostly Shimono and inclined her head. Nodding, Shimono reached out to her in turn. Their fingers touched. A pearl of luminance manifested where they clasped hands, and expanded to surround them both.

Another 'pop,' and they vanished. Hiei let out a breath, glanced at the coffee table.

The silver flask was gone.

He turned his gaze out the window, toward the moonlit sky. Though Hiei could see neither Ayame nor Shimono, he whispered, "Good-bye, Mr. Chips."

In mere moments, the old man would stand before Koenma, and Hiei was confident he would be judged well.

He rejoined the others out in the hall, closed the door behind him, and almost--not quite--closed the door on the case.

Itako led them out this time, quietly assuring everyone that the Watanabe Trio would undergo a thorough investigation--by regular school authorities, he hastened to add, seeing Hiei's lifted lip. Azabu agreed to give testimony.

And even though Hiei discovered there was enough left in his expense account to cover the ride home, it was Itako who insisted on paying for the cab, and Hiei didn't try very hard to dissuade him.

He had dismissed the teacher as a dried-out, myopic old bird. But in his own way, Itako had fought hard for St. Joe's, calling in Hiei in the first place--not to mention returning to the school after dark.

As they stood in a knot outside, awaiting the cab, Itako even seemed less like a lost stork and more like a bold defender of his own territory. How could Hiei have missed the firm set of his jaw? "I don't get this," he said to Itako. "I clock you, and you call the cab for us."

Itako smiled. "You were trying to save the school's reputation, son. And you succeeded. In fact, out of gratitude, I'm positive St. Joe's would like you to keep the uniform--as an honorary graduate."

_Well. Shay-san did like the uniform_. "So at my age, I finally get a high school diploma?"

"Provided you first pass the battery of tests, of course."

"Always a catch." Yet Hiei felt absurdly pleased.

The cab's headlights were visible just at the end of the block as Kuwabara turned to the teacher. "Hiei popped you pretty hard. Will you be all right, _sensei_?"

"Oh, I'm sure I will." Itako gingerly prodded his jaw. "I must say! I haven't enjoyed excitement like this since trying to prove the extended Church-Turing thesis!"

Kuwabara gave a soft laugh, as though he understood. Hiei, on the other hand, was thoroughly puzzled, but his bewilderment was cut short by the cab's arrival. Handing the driver some money, Itako bid them farewell, then strolled back toward the residence, whistling.

Azabu climbed in, wedged between Hiei and Kuwabara. Hiei shot a glance at the kid. Azabu, too, had managed to surprise him.

Kuwabara rested his head on the back of the seat. The cab pulled away. Hiei rolled the window down, hoping the breeze would soothe his ferocious headache, but even the rush of air against his skin proved too much. He pulled his head back in and cranked the handle to roll up the window.

At Azabu's street they directed the cabdriver to stop far enough from the house so that no suspicious parent might catch a glimpse of them. While the cab waited, they got out to ensure the kid made it home all right, in case Watanabe was waiting under a rock somewhere.

By now, the effects of Kurama's pain patches had worn off altogether, and Hiei longed for relief. The dispirited moon slunk toward a graying horizon. Wounds aching, head throbbing, the lateness of the hour manifested to Hiei as a burning in his eyes, a weariness in his bones.

The youngster seemed reluctant to leave, but Kuwabara stood with his arms folded and a smirk on his mug. "Someday we'll look back on this and laugh."

"No, we won't." Hiei turned to the kid, jerked his head toward a well-groomed building in the middle of the block. "That your house down there?"

"Yes, Hiei-san." Azabu gave him a wistful glance. "I don't suppose you could help me climb into an upstairs window?"

Hiei merely gave him a look.

"Never mind," said Azabu, hastily. Then, cocking his head, he asked, "You two guys are secret agents, right?"

"No!" barked Hiei, at the same moment Kuwabara crowed, "Yes!"

They exchanged a grim look. "No," they said in unison.

"In any case, you were an eyeful tonight!"

"Speaking of which..." Flicking up his headband, Hiei opened his Jagan, allowing just a little of its power to flare out. "You never saw this. It isn't here. Got it?"

Azabu appeared to blank out for a moment or two. Then, after Hiei had readjusted his Jagan ward, Azabu, appearing to have quite recovered, blushed and stammered, "G-guess I won't be seeing you tomorrow?"

"Not if we see you first," muttered Hiei.

Kuwabara giggled. "Now get back inside before this goes on your permanent record!"

Azabu turned away. Hiei watched him walk down the street. His wounds burned with a fierce and insistent fire, and he was certain--though he hadn't yet mentioned it to Kuwabara--that he had also snapped a collarbone, if the grating sensation whenever he moved his arm was any indication.

"Kids," said Kuwabara. "They're so cute at that age."

"So's the plague."

"I notice you didn't remove Azabu's memory of us altogether--just your Jagan."

"Slipped my mind." Would Michael grow to be like that kid? Awkward, eager, yet with a stubborn seed of courage?

Well, better that than a miserable old cynic.

"Need help getting back to the cab?"

"No." Hiei limped along the sidewalk. "Hope I'll be okay in time for that gig Friday."

"Good thing you're gonna be sittin' on a barstool, doing what you try to pass off as singing, and not jumpin' around onstage in what you try to pass off as your dancing."

Hiei told Kuwabara in detail where to bite him, but Kuwabara declined in a like manner.

The night drew its wings around them. "We really could use the money," Hiei admitted, whereupon Kuwabara allowed, "I'm sure you'll clean up there."

Hiei gave a grunt of thanks.

"So ends the career of two mysterious transfer students," Kuwabara sighed, pausing to stretch. "Ain't gonna be classmates no more."

"I knew this dark cloud came with a silver lining," Hiei retorted. As he did so, a flash of insight exploded, with the force of a Jagan wave, leaving him weak, stunned, empty to the night.

When he had mastered himself, Hiei glanced up at Kuwabara.

Hiei knew then that he annoyed Kuwabara every bit as much as Kuwabara annoyed him--and that he did very little to alleviate the situation. That, in fact, he goaded Kuwabara at every turn.

Kuwabara tilted his head to the sky. He did not speak; Hiei wondered whether he had fallen asleep where he stood, much like a mule. But then Kuwabara lowered his gaze to regard Hiei steadily. "You had me worried back there, Shorty. Lying there like you were dead."

"I try not to get dead if at all possible." And, taking a deep breath, Hiei said, "You never came to see me."

Kuwabara's face creased in puzzlement. "When?"

"That year I spent rehabbing the injuries I got from Old Dragon."

Kuwabara did not respond right away. He frowned down at his big hands, then shoved them in his pockets, all the while keeping his gaze nailed to the sidewalk. He said, in an uncharacteristic mumble: "I figured I'd be the last person you'd want to see."

So softly that Kuwabara could not possibly hear, Hiei breathed, "You figured wrong."

Kuwabara again lifted his head to the sky, and Hiei peered doubtfully at the lowering, cloud-draped moon. "What are you gaping at?"

"G'wan, take a look." Elbowing Hiei, Kuwabara pointed into the sky. "You prolly missed 'em, though."

"What?" Shading his eyes, Hiei followed the pointing finger, but could see nothing unusual.

"It's pigs," Kuwabara explained. "Flyin' pigs."

In spite of the pain it caused, Hiei laughed.

Kuwabara gave him that wide grin. "We did okay, you and me."

"Yeah." Hiei nodded. "We did." Then, reluctantly, he admitted to the possibility of a broken bone.

At once, Kuwabara helped him back into the cab and gave the driver Kurama's address. As they pulled away he turned a worried glance upon Hiei. "Hope Kurama's awake to heal you up the rest of the way."

"And that he's talking to me again." Rolling the window down, Hiei let the cool breeze ruffle his hair, heedless of pain now, adding, "Because if Shay-san sees me like this, it's going on my permanent record."

-30-

(Author's Note, Part Deux: This concludes _Codename Moron_. I feel that, at heart, Hiei and Kuwabara regard one another as friends--although it takes something like a ghost, coupled with a murderous wood lathe, to bring it out.

Stay tuned for the continuation either of _Operation Rosary_ OR _Death By Hiei_--or maybe something else altogether!)


End file.
